


The Long Way Home

by Abraxas



Category: To the Manor Born
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-01-13 08:18:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 57,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18465073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abraxas/pseuds/Abraxas
Summary: A series of loosely connected one-shots charting Richard and Audrey's developing romance.





	1. Bedivere

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: all the usual ones.
> 
> Author note: some of these will be longer pieces, others shorter, and are largely missing-scenes, in between bits and possibly continuations from the show's original run.

_1\. Bedivere_

 

Audrey watched the tall figure, with his armful of sticks, move from one side of the bridge to the other and back again. It did, she had to admit, look rather ridiculous from a distance; but touching, somehow, that he had taken it up. She would let him get on with it. After all, his desire for a little time and space to get to grips with his new role wasn't entirely unreasonable. And it weren't as though she enjoyed their encounters. And there wasn't anything that she particularly needed to draw his attention to.

At her feet, Bertie sat panting with the slightly stupefied expression of a well-exercised dog dreaming of his basket.

'One last run, Bertie?' Audrey stooped and released him from his lead. 'Go on, run about.'

He yawned widely.

'Go and find a stick. A stick, Bertie.' She blew out a breath, regarded her pet with irritation. 'Look! There's a man over there with a whole armful of sticks.' Audrey nudged him with her foot and Bertie, finally, shook himself and trotted in the direction of the bridge. Halfway there he paused, looking back at her, one paw raised.

'Go on!'she hissed.

Audrey gave him a few moments, during which she innocently raked the sky for any passing birds that might be of interest – if you were interested in birds. And then she started towards the bridge.

'Bertie!' A sing-song voice that he would ignore. Admittedly, Bertie ignored most tones of voice – coming-when-called was a concept with which he remained blissfully unacquainted. By the time Audrey reached them, Bertie was enjoying having his ears ruffled; Richard straightened up as she approached and smiled.

'Hello.'

'Oh, hello. Sorry for disturbing you,' she lied. 'Bertie's after one of your sticks.'

'Ah.'

Richard pulled one out of his bundle and waved it at Bertie. 'Here you go, Bertie. Good boy.' He threw the stick some distance into the grass.

Bertie remained at Richard's feet, gazing up at him with melting eyes and his tongue hanging out. He looked, Audrey thought, as though he were doing an impression of Marjory Frobisher.

'He doesn't seem very keen,' Richard said, regarding him uncertainly.

'He's tired,' Audrey supplied smoothly.

As though willing to back her up at last, Bertie lay down, his chin on Richard's foot.

'So I see.' Amusement coloured his tone.

'And I see that you're adapting to country life.'

Richard glanced down at his sticks. 'Oh, er… Yes.' He looked faintly embarrassed. 'I thought I'd give it another go. It's quite good fun, actually.'

Audrey smiled. 'Yes, it is.'

It wasn't just the Pooh-sticks, though. The jacket he was wearing was far more practical than the previous week's tweeds: waterproof and heavily splashed with mud from whatever it was he'd been doing. There was even dirt under his finger nails. The wind ruffled his hair. It suited him, she thought.

She suppressed that thought.

'I still can't believe that you have never heard of Winnie-the-Pooh.'

'I've heard of him!' Richard protested. 'I've just never read any of the books. Good, are they?'

'They're classics. I thought every child in England had read them.'

'Well, books were a luxury when I was a child; the printed word had to come second to food. I think that's how we got hold of most printed material, quite frankly – the newspaper wrapped around the vegetables. Besides, neither of my parents could read English very well at first.'

'Yes, of course,' Audrey murmured softly, her eyes wandering over his face. She shook herself. 'There must have been a library, surely?'

'Oh, there was. But a bomb got dropped on it,' he said, matter of fact. 'And the school didn't have many, uh, amenities. There was a chalkboard… Not that there was much chalk, though. By the time I could afford to get my hands on books, I was a little old for children's literature.' Richard flashed her one of those disarming smiles. 'Now you know almost everything.'

Audrey tilted her head. 'Almost?'

He hesitated, and then: 'Well, we did have one book – inexplicably, it was the tales of King Arthur. I think that's where I got my idea of the perfect English name from.'

'Oh, you fancied yourself as a Knight of the Round Table?'

Another pause. 'Not exactly.' A coolness in his tone.

fforbes-Hamiltons did not apologise. And they did not blush. But Audrey felt her cheeks burn and a pang of dismay. She hadn't meant it quite the way it had sounded.

Forcing a bright smile, Audrey talked on, hoping to reclaim something of the ease that had sprung up between them.

'Well, I always rather fancied myself as a knight. We used to play at being knights. Of course, being an all-girls school it was easier to take the part.' She turned to him then and his gaze was thoughtful, considering. 'I used to make Marjory be the damsel in distress – she'd be tied to a tree and I'd rescue her. Although, I did once forget which tree I'd tied her to and she was there for hours. Her parents were terribly cross.'

A breath of laughter, and amusement warmed his face again. 'Yes, I can well imagine you tilting at things.'

'It was good training.'

'For what?'

'Life.'

He watched her for a moment. 'Yes.'

Audrey held out a hand. 'May I have a stick?'

Richard regarded her doubtfully. 'You're not planning on running me through, are you?'

'Not unless provoked.'

His eyes crinkled. 'I'll risk it.'

Audrey accepted the proffered stick, held it between her fingers over the water. 'Ready?'

Solemnly, he raised his own stick like a duelling sword. 'Ready.'

'And no cheating this time.'

'I did not cheat!'

They dropped their sticks, then crossed to the downstream-side of the bridge, leaned against the railings.

'Congratulations,' Richard said when Audrey's stick floated out barely a second before his.

She nodded graciously.

'Best of three?'

Audrey shook her head. 'I always quit while I'm ahead.'

'Very wise.' Richard released his remaining load into the stream, brushed off his hands.

They stood side-by-side, enjoying the view (if not necessarily the biting wind), the peace punctuated by the occasional canine snore.

'At least you didn't go for Lancelot,' Audrey said suddenly.

'I'm sorry?'

'As a name. Lancelot DeVere. Not very…'

'English?'

'Not very.'

'Not unless I want to sound like a character from Wodehouse.'

Audrey's eyes widened slightly. 'You read Wodehouse?'

'Naturally. There was a Galahad somewhere in those stories.'

'Lord Emsworth's brother.'

'Yes, that's right!'

Audrey considered it. 'Galahad DeVere…'

They exchanged a glance and both shook their heads.

'Gawain DeVere?' she offered.

Richard was firm. 'Worse. Bedivere was the chap I liked and for the life of me, I can't remember why.'

'Bedivere. B. DeVere. That's quite clever. I take it that Bedrich is the Czech variant of Richard?'

'What? N-no. No, it's the Czech form of Frederick.'

'Frederick?!'

Richard shrugged lightly. 'Yes, I'm afraid so.'

Audrey frowned, shaking her head. 'Why not use Frederick?'

'Oh, I did for a time. But people kept calling me Fred. Or Freddie.' He made it sound like the worst possible occurrence and Audrey laughed. She looked him over.

'No, you don't really look like a Fred. Or a Freddie.'

'Thank God for that,' he said drily.

A banshee-like wail punctuated the air; they looked around and found Bertie staring at them mournfully. He yawned and whined simultaneously, producing another unearthly yelp. Richard's shoulders shook with laughter.

'He sounds the way I feel after a day of board meetings.'

'I should get him home.' Strange, that she should feel so reluctant.

Richard regarded him. 'Will he make it?'

Audrey bristled, affronted on her pet's behalf. 'Bertie is very active. You should see him after a fox.'

A sceptical glance was sent Bertie's way. 'I think I'd put my money on the fox.'

'Yes, probably wise,' Audrey admitted.

It had been a pleasant interlude, Audrey thought, as she tramped back towards the lodge with Bertie. And yet…

She was unsettled for the rest of the evening, and not just by thoughts of the ludicrously romantic figure he had cut, standing against the windswept landscape. Byronic, almost.

But no, it wasn't that.

It was a young family and a hazardous journey across a Europe on the brink of war. Arriving in a foreign country with nothing, and no-one, and learning an alien language with all of its impenetrable eccentricities from old newspapers wrapped around whatever food they could afford to buy. And a young boy dreaming of knights and wizards and kings.

After dinner – and a very inconclusive engagement with the cherry stones – Audrey found herself pulling out the few slim volumes that were the remnants of her childhood. A tattered account of King Arthur and his knights. She thumbed through it, stopping at pages towards the end. Of course. Bedivere was the one by the dying king's side, the one who returned Excalibur to the lake. She set the volume aside, picked up the even more worn copy of _The House at Pooh Corner_.

Why had she kept them? she wondered. Sentiment? Or for the children she had never had.

Audrey put the books back, curled herself onto the sofa and stared into the meagre glow from the fireplace.

And tried to ignore the even more unsettling notion that Richard DeVere was not going to be convenient at all.


	2. Good Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing from the episode 'Nation's Heritage'.

_2\. Good Intentions_

 

It had all been going well until the fireplace.

 

Audrey had resisted dinner at the Arms initially, but there was something rather liberating – infectiously so – about someone who cared so little for what other people thought.

 

She had spent her life bound up with appearances and propriety and so she understood the reasons for his change of name and the adoption of those trappings of English gentility. And yet alongside that was the utter disregard for other people’s opinions of him. It was a contradiction that she found very intriguing.

 

Sitting in those cosy surroundings in her jodhpurs and boots, she was aware of the looks and the whispers from other tables but, with Richard’s indifference to the effect that their windblown, slightly muddy appearances had, she had found it hard to care about the disapproval aimed at them.

 

The staff did not seem to have that problem – they had almost fallen over themselves to ensure that Richard and Audrey were seated at the best table and wanted for nothing.

 

Money, Richard told her, meant that just about anything was forgivable – provided you had enough of it.

 

She had laughed at that, but later, much later, it was a comment that came back to her and with it the thought that maybe he wasn’t as thick-skinned as his rather easygoing manner suggested; maybe he wore a lot of armour and, like all armour, it had its vulnerabilities.

 

But as a dinner companion he was charming and entertaining and it was all too easy to find herself back at the manor, sprawled across the divan in his study with an excellent cognac and the scent of cigar smoke on the air.

 

And then the fireplace. She stared at the gaudy monstrosity in despair while he cheerfully told her she could have the equally appalling one from the library.

 

‘Audrey?’

 

She glared at him.

 

‘Are you all right?’ He looked genuinely concerned.

 

She genuinely wanted to claw his face off.

 

‘Have you any idea what you’ve done?’ She seemed to have been asking the same question for hours and, finally, the fact that his gift to her was not going down quite the way he had intended was starting to register.

 

‘I, er…’

 

‘There is a Portland stone fireplace behind that … that … _thing_ that you have brought into my home.’

 

He looked over at the newly-installed fireplace with interest. ‘Is there? Yes, I suppose that would make sense if the lodge is the same age as the house.’

 

‘It is.’ Audrey got the words out through clenched teeth. ‘Brabinger found it when he was wiring the new bells-‘ His eyebrows rose a fraction, interest replaced by a sort of amused tolerance that was infuriating. And humiliating. ‘And then you dared to come into my house, without any invitation and-and deface my home!’

 

‘Audrey, l’m sorry – truly. You’ve been very kind and very generous with your time and it was meant to be a way of thanking you. I thought you loved…’ he looked again at the bright red and blue painted surround, ‘…that.’

 

‘Well I don’t!’

 

Hands balled into fists, her nails bit into the flesh of her palms. She hadn’t been kind. Or generous. And it was all Marton’s fault, anyway, with his vulgar taste that had ruined so much of the home she had loved. And his incompetence and dishonesty that had lost her her home. But Marton wasn’t here and Richard was and so he would be the recipient of her fury.

 

_You’ve never seen anything so beautiful._

 

He had meant it; wonder in his face when he had said it. Not how much it was worth, not how much it added to the value of the house, but simply beauty for the sake of beauty. He recognised it, appreciated it in a way that Marton never had. Richard wasn’t just renovating the manor, he was restoring it; finding parts of it that had been lost for so long and bringing them back to life.

 

And all she could do was catch glimpses of it from her exile at the bottom of the drive and the unfairness of it was more than she could bear.

 

And Richard was still talking, with that same ease that he had had when walking them into the pub. ‘Look, I’ll send the workmen down tomorrow and they’ll sort this out – put that thing on the scrap heap where it belongs. I’ll get them to check Brabinger’s wiring while they’re at it – I have a feeling that your functioning bell situation here is the reason for our non-functioning bell situation at the manor.’

 

He seemed to find the whole thing extremely entertaining. Audrey blinked back tears of sheer frustration.

 

‘It’s the least you can do,’ she said icily.

 

His eyes wandered over her face and his smile faded. ‘Why don’t you come up to the manor tomorrow while they’re working-‘

 

‘That won’t be necessary.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I’ll expect your men in the morning. Good night, Mister DeVere.’

 

Richard hesitated for a moment and then his shoulders sagged slightly. ‘Goodnight, Audrey,’ he said quietly.

 

She spent the following day with Marjory, and it was a day spent directing invective at the current occupant of her beloved manor.

 

‘Come on, Aud,’ Marjory said, ‘he wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t made such a fuss.’

 

The wrong thing to say, and Audrey spent a good half-hour telling her so.

 

When she got back to the lodge, all was quiet and Brabinger greeted her with a smile that was almost beatific.

 

‘The men have done a wonderful job, Madam.’

 

And they had. Not a trace of dust, no sign that anything had been done, just the creamy stone restored to its lustrous glory. And the huge bouquet of flowers that did duty as yet another apology.

 

He might own the manor, she thought, sipping her sherry, but he was not the lord of all he surveyed, no matter what he nor anyone else thought.

 

And she was determined to remind him of that.


	3. Out of the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of 'The Grapevine'.

_3\. Out of the Woods_

 

Richard followed Audrey back to the lodge’s terrace and watched with a combination of amusement and admiration as she swept past her guests as though there was nothing unusual whatsoever about her stumbling out of the woods, at night, with a man she barely knew.

 

There were whispers as they passed; a man who bore an uncanny resemblance to a beached whale with a sunburn winked at him and Richard reminded himself that you weren’t supposed to punch people when there were ladies present.

 

Marjory Frobisher stared at both of them, wide-eyed and a little dismayed. He smiled at her.

 

‘I was just showing Audrey the badgers.’

 

Immediately, she was wreathed in smiles. ‘Oh, are they there now?’

 

‘Yes, but don’t go tearing off,’ Audrey said. ‘We’ll end up with endless people trampling through and scaring them.’

 

‘I wasn’t going to,’ Marjory replied with great dignity. She turned her attention back to Richard and visibly melted. ‘I am awfully glad you got to see them, though, Richard.’ Her hand on his arm and she gazed up at him.

 

‘Uh, Yes. So am I. Marjory.’

 

She turned a delicate shade of pink.

 

‘Marjory.’ Audrey was sharp and detached her friend from Richard’s arm. ‘You can come and help me with the hors d’oeuvres.’

 

‘But I- Oh, all right.’ Marjory allowed herself to be pulled away.

 

It would, Richard thought, do Marjory the world of good to stand up for herself once in a while. Audrey too, probably – although a rebellious Marjory might be a bit too much for her.

 

Turning to the drinks table, Richard located a fresh glass and was in the process of filling it when his mother materialised at his elbow.

 

‘Bedrich,’ she hissed, ‘what are you doing?’

 

He glanced at her. ‘I was going to have another drink. Here, have some more wine – it’s quite good.’

 

‘I do not want more wine.’

 

She still took the glass, though, he noticed.

 

‘You called her Marjory.’

 

‘Eh? Oh, Miss Frobisher. Yes, well that is her name.’

 

‘And she called you Richard.’

 

Indisputable logic, that. ‘And that’s my name.’

 

‘And what about Audrey?’ She gesticulated wildly, half the contents of her glass slopping over the sides.

 

‘As far as I’m aware, Audrey’s name is still Audrey. And I hope that more of that wine went on your dress than her carpet, otherwise I’ll never hear the end of it.’

 

Maria Polouvicka grabbed the silk square from his breast-pocket and scrubbed irritably at the front of her dress. ‘Now look what you made me do.’

 

Deciding that silence was the better part of retaining his sanity, Richard procured another glass and filled it. The Spanish wine really was awfully good and very reasonably priced – you couldn’t say that Cavendish Foods didn’t do right by its customers.

 

The now ragged silk was stuffed back into his pocket and his mother took a deep breath. ‘There is a saying in old Czechoslovakia-’

 

Richard flinched inwardly and drank more of his wine.

 

‘-the cat who chases two birds goes to bed hungry.’

 

‘I don’t believe it.’

 

Her eyebrows rose. ‘You think that you can catch two birds?’

 

‘No, I don’t; mainly because it’s not the Sixties anymore.’ She frowned at him and he laughed slightly, shook his head. ‘I don’t believe that’s a saying from old Czechoslovakia. I think you make them up when the occasion suits.’

 

She drew herself up to her full height, but still had to tilt her head back to catch her son’s eye. ‘Bedrich. Are you accusing your own mother of being a liar?’

 

‘Perish the thought.’

 

Maria sighed, took a sip of her wine, put her glass down and tried a more conciliatory tack. ‘You will never get Audrey if you…’ she searched for the phrase, ‘…play around with her friend.’

 

Richard regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Don’t you like Marjory Frobisher?’

 

‘Yes…’ Cautious. She glanced over at the lady in question. ‘But she is … feathery.’

 

Richard laughed. A fitting description, considering Marjory’s love of all things avian. She was a sweet woman and pretty, in a washed-out sort of way. He felt a great deal of affection for her and imagined that most people who knew her shared that feeling. She was easy to like. Fewer hard edges than Audrey, for example. Less prickly. Less interesting.

 

‘Majory is a very nice woman, and she’s been a good friend. But I am not chasing her.’

 

‘She’s chasing you,’ Maria muttered darkly.

 

‘She’ll soon get over it,’ he said, with a little more conviction than he felt. ‘And for the record, I am not chasing anyone. Here,’ he topped up her glass. ‘Drink your wine, enjoy the party.’

 

Maria watched as her son navigated through the crush of people and smiled to herself when he reached Audrey’s side; and she remembered another saying from Czechoslovakia about the cat and dog who fought the most being the most happy together.

 

Richard pulled the sadly-stained silk square from his pocket and deposited it on the tray of used glasses that Brabinger was taking back to the kitchen. Marjory approached from the opposite direction bearing a tray of party snacks that had a distinctly Spanish flavour: olives, Manchego cheese, Serrano ham… Richard recognised the assortment as part of the Cavendish Foods Continental Selection. Brabinger must have been dispatched to purchase the provisions and Richard began to suspect that the butler had a keen but well-hidden sense of humour.

 

Spanish food, Spanish wine and now even Spanish music were adding to the holiday atmosphere on the Costa del Grantleigh.

 

Audrey was finishing another retelling of her Americans-in-Málaga story (after all that rehearsal, she wasn’t about to let it go to waste) and Richard took the opportunity to observe her. She really was looking radiant, the golden glow of her skin lifting her features; the heavy dark-blonde locks suited the way she had styled them. Just one slight imperfection… She turned to him as the couple she had been talking to drifted away and raised an enquiring eyebrow.

 

‘What?’

 

‘Nothing. Just…’ He reached out and pulled an errant twig from her hair.

 

‘Oh, really!’ She glared at him. He smiled back at her.

 

‘I was admiring your tan.’ He kept his voice low, just loud enough that only she could hear. ‘If Brabinger isn’t free, I am available for reapplication, should you need it.’

 

‘That sounds like an indecent proposal.’

 

‘Not at all. Just being neighbourly.’

 

‘That’s a pity.’ Slightly muffled.

 

‘What was that?’

 

‘I said, that’s so pretty. The music, I mean.’

 

He nodded. ‘Of course.’ They looked at each other. ‘More wine?’

 

She tilted her head, looking at him from under her lashes but didn’t move her glass away; he refilled it. ‘And I suppose that this is where I say: are you trying to get me drunk?’

 

He feigned offence. ‘That’s not in the gentleman’s code. Or the grocer’s.’

 

Her lips curved and there was a glint in her blue eyes that he found utterly irresistible.

 

He raised his glass to her. ‘Truce?’

 

Audrey smiled and clinked her glass against his. ‘Truce.’


	4. The Corinthian

_4\. The Corinthian_

 

‘Audrey!’ Mrs Polouvicka held out her hands and beamed at her.

 

‘Hello, Mrs Poo.’

 

The old lady tucked Audrey’s hand into the crook of her arm. ‘It’s too bad of Bedrich – he didn’t tell me you were coming.’

 

‘Well he doesn’t know. I have papers for him to sign for the church roof fund.’

 

‘Ah, of course. Papers.’ She chuckled knowingly and patted Audrey’s hand. ‘Bedrich is in the…’ She frowned. ‘The yellow room. Playing with his cups and saucers.’

 

The image of Richard and a doll’s tea set sprang into Audrey’s mind and she bit back laughter. Instead, she asked: ‘The yellow room?’

 

Mrs Polouvicka shrugged. ‘Richard had it painted yellow, so now that’s what it is.’

 

They turned down a corridor and Audrey realised that they were heading towards the Tea Room. And she felt a little pang of disappointment. It had always been a room that should have been beautiful but instead was just shabby and neglected, with faded green walls of a particularly sickly hue and dusty velvet curtains that should never have been in there.  _Not worth it, Old Girl_ , Marton had said when she had talked about doing it up. Old Girl. She hadn’t even been thirty. And now it had been painted the colour of a boiled egg. Just when she thought Richard DeVere had some taste, he did this to her.

 

 Mrs Polouvicka threw open the door, announcing their guest. Audrey took a step forward and gasped.

 

It was like walking into liquid sunshine. This wasn’t yellow. It was a pale, buttery gold that glowed. Highlights of white – no, soft ivory – caught the light from the windows that were now free of coverings. There were white shutters, but so discreet that they were barely noticeable when folded back. The parquet floor gleamed and what appeared to be genuine antique Aubusson carpets lay in shades of duck egg blue and gold. The tall cabinets that stood in each corner had been restored and their style and colour were matched by the few Louis Quinze chairs and an equally elegant writing table in the middle of the room.

 

It was here that Richard was standing, in the process of retrieving with great care something from a box that contained vast quantities of packing straw.

 

‘Audrey is here!’ His mother bellowed.

 

He glanced up. ‘So I see.’

 

Audrey heard her tut and mutter something under her breath in Czech.

 

Richard abandoned his endeavour, straightened and smiled at her. ‘Hello, Audrey.’

 

She just about managed to return the greeting, her eyes slipping away from him to take in their surroundings again.

 

‘Audrey has some forms for you to sign, Bedrich. I will leave you two alone to talk business.’ Delighted with the unexpected visit and her own subtlety in leaving them together, Maria Polouvicka strode down the corridor, singing to herself.

 

‘We can go somewhere less draughty,’ Richard offered. ‘I would close the windows, but I’m trying to get rid of the smell of paint.’

 

‘No, this is fine,’ Audrey murmured, relinquishing her folder of papers without noticing. She didn’t want to leave this room.

 

It was perfect, she thought. The light, the proportions, the sparse but select furnishings, the glorious colour. It was the ideal of Regency elegance and Audrey found herself recasting Richard, not as a Barbara Cartland hero, but as something much better – a Georgette Heyer hero. One of the Corinthians. Those men who pursued all the manly, sporting interests but were also cultured and intelligent. Usually tall and dark-haired and grey-eyed-

 

All right, so Richard’s eyes were brown, and he was a terrible horseman, but he was improving. And he certainly had the physique to carry off the tailcoat and tight breeches and riding boots.

 

And he had been calling her for some moments, she realised. He looked at her quizzically.

 

‘Are you all right?’

 

In her entire life, Audrey was certain, she had never blushed. And then she had met Richard DeVere. She felt her cheeks burning and raised her chin in defiance. She would not be embarrassed by the uncooperative corpuscles in her cheeks. They would simply have to learn not to expand. Or whatever it was that they did.

 

‘I was admiring the room. It’s lovely.’

 

He seemed genuinely pleased. ‘It is, isn’t it?’ He moved to stand next to her, surveyed the space from her vantage point. ‘I’m glad you approve. It was looking a little sad before.’

 

Ordinarily, she would have felt honour-bound to defend her former home. Sad? It had been tragic. Even if she had bought back the manor, this room and so many others would still have been tragic in their neglect and squalor. Not to mention the home farm, the home wood, the tenant cottages… She could never have afforded to maintain any of it.

 

Audrey felt a knot in her chest release.

 

‘Well, it’s beautiful now. Whatever you paid your designer, it wasn’t enough.’

 

He smiled. ‘Thanks. I’ll give myself a raise.’

 

She stared at him for a moment. ‘You-you designed it?’

 

Richard laughed easily. ‘I chose the paint and then some other people applied it and cleaned everything up. I don’t think I’d call that designing anything.’

 

Audrey felt a new and completely unfamiliar knot take up residence in her chest and tie itself very tight.

 

She cleared her throat, turned away lightly. ‘What are you going to put in here?’

 

Richard slid his hands in his pockets, surveying the room. ‘I have a wonderful collection of seaside postcards. I thought they’d look very good against the yellow.’

 

She glanced him sharply and the reflexive retort that rose to her lips faded and instead she said, ‘You enjoy teasing me.’

 

‘Well, you do make it very easy sometimes.’

 

‘I suppose I deserve that.’

 

Richard studied her for a moment, lingering over the lines of her face. He let out a breath. ‘I thought the china would look very well in here.

 

‘Oh?’ Her interest was obvious. Richard guided her over to the table and carefully retrieved from the box and its straw one of the precious objects inside.

 

‘There.’

 

It was a small plate, so fine and thin it looked as though it would disintegrate if they breathed too hard. The cobalt blue of the painted flowers was unmistakable and the hints of gold offset the pattern perfectly.

 

‘It’s Carsten’s, isn’t it?’

 

‘Yes, that’s right.’ He looked delighted with her knowledge. ‘You have an interest in china?’

 

‘Yes, very much.’ Audrey leaned towards the plate, taking in the detail and shook her head slightly in admiration. ‘It’s lovely.’ She peered at the box with undisguised curiosity. ‘What else do you have in there?’

 

There were a handful of pieces, but each was a treasure in itself. A Dresden shepherdess. A Meissen bowl. Two Limoges plates. And then-

 

They came out one by one, two cups and their saucers, one pistachio, one pink like sugared almonds, but clearly belonging together.

 

‘Oh, Richard…’

 

‘Beautiful, aren’t they?’

 

‘No.’ Audrey shook her head, emphatic. ‘No. They’re exquisite.’ With infinite care, she ran one finger around the rim of one cup, feeling the delicacy of it and the history. ‘You’re quite the expert.’

 

‘Not at all.’

 

‘False modesty does not become you,’ she said severely. ‘Unless, of course, you have an adviser, in which case-’

 

He laughed again. ‘No! I’ve picked up some basic knowledge over the years, but I’m no expert. I just buy the things I like the look of. I had no idea what these were when I bought them.’

 

Audrey stared at him, incredulous. ‘You didn’t know that you had bought Fabergé?’

 

He grinned at her. ‘I doubt the seller did, either.’

 

Quite an eye he had, then. An inherent good taste. A Corinthian indeed.

 

And the knot in Audrey’s chest gave a painful, pleasurable twist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Corinthians, alongside Dandies and Tulips, were a specific set of Regency gentlemen whose main interests were sporting excellence. Georgette Heyer’s Regency novels usually feature a heavily romanticised version of a Corinthian as the male lead.


	5. Ladies and Gentlemen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up from the end of 'A Touch of Class', we follow Richard and Audrey at the Lord Lieutenant's ball.

_5\. Ladies and Gentlemen_

 

It was almost like old times: back in these familiar surroundings and all of the rituals and pageantry of the Lord Lieutenant’s ball. Almost, but not quite. Audrey had never had a companion so handsome, or attentive, or entertaining. Certainly not one who was all three at once. The belief that all men look good in evening wear was not one that Audrey had ever subscribed to – and that opinion was borne out by the array of dinner jackets stretched across bellies that had long out-grown them – but Richard really did look even better than usual. As always, his tailoring was impeccable. It was like being escorted by James Bond. Only without the propensity for carnage and borderline alcoholism.

 

There were also the familiar faces, many of whom she hadn’t seen since Marton’s funeral. She had become an un-person in their eyes since the loss of the manor. With some, the ones she had thought of as actual friends, it hurt. With others, it was something of a relief to be rid of them.

 

Into this latter category, Audrey placed Patrick and Annabelle Aston. A particularly odious pair, Audrey had always thought. But Patrick and Marton had been at school together, and so Marton would never hear a word against his old friend. A notably unattractive specimen. It was that full, flaccid lower-lip and the weak chin. And the small, hard eyes.

 

‘Audrey!’ He pulled her into an unwilling embrace, holding her a little too close and a fraction too long.

 

She extricated herself. ‘Hello, Patrick. Annabelle.’

 

Annabelle Aston’s devotion to dieting may have enabled her to fit into the smallest dress size possible, but the overall effect was not willowy, merely scrawny. Was it the lack of sustenance, Audrey wondered, that gave her that slightly demented look?

 

The two women brushed their cheeks against each other’s and Audrey felt every second of her own hypocrisy.

 

‘You know Richard DeVere?’

 

‘No!’ Annabelle drawled, with as much animation as her facelift would allow. ‘But I’ve heard so much about you. How sweet of you to introduce us, Audrey.’ Richard took, briefly, the tips of the fingers she had extended to him.

 

‘Ah, DeVere!’ One of Patrick’s stubby fingers jabbed Richard in the chest. ‘You’re the fellah who flogs my salmon in your shop.’

 

‘Aston…’ Richard’s head tilted slightly. ‘Ah, yes. The fish man,’ he said flatly.

 

Richard was wearing an inscrutable expression that Audrey had seen only a few times before and had not yet learned to decipher. But it seemed to signify displeasure.

 

‘Salmon, man, salmon!’ Another jab. ‘Finest wild salmon in the world, from my estate up in Scotland. Been wanting to have a word with you – not too happy with the price we’re getting.’

 

‘Now is hardly the time,’ Richard replied. Still no change of expression, but his voice was quiet and cold.

 

‘Of course, old chap. I’ll drop in and see you in your shop, shall I?’ He laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.

 

‘It isn’t a shop, it’s a national chain,’ Audrey said, the words snapping.

 

‘Oh-ho! That’s me told!’ His tongue darted out and moistened that flabby lower lip. ‘Come on, Audrey, I’ll give you a canter around the ring.’ He had grabbed hold of her hand before she had the chance to refuse.

 

Sensing her resistance, Richard moved towards her but stopped when she flashed him a smile.

 

‘It’s all right,’ she said softly.

 

And then she was gone.

 

‘Looks like you’re stuck with me, Mister DeVere.’ Annabelle simpered up at him. ‘I love dancing.’

 

Richard forced a smile, took her claw-like hand in his and led her onto the dance floor.

 

It was an excruciating few minutes. Annabelle clung to him with tenacity of a limpet. There seemed to be no way of his placing his hand on her back that did not encounter bare flesh. And her conversation, such as it was, consisted almost entirely of gossip about people he had never met and didn’t want to, by the sound of them. An onlooker, however, might have thought that Richard was fascinated by her.

 

Which, in a way, was true.

 

He was astounded, and somewhat unsettled, by the way she could keep on talking without moving a muscle in her face. Even her lips. It was like dancing with a ventriloquist – and he wasn’t entirely certain which of them was the dummy.

 

When the music stopped, Richard steered her firmly off the dance floor before she could suggest that they stay for the next number.

 

‘I’d kill for another drink, though,’ she bleated at him.

 

Sensing the opportunity for escape, Richard headed for the bar. He’d get the blasted woman her drink, and then locate Audrey. He was not a man to have patience for a queue, but he welcomed it now if it offered respite from the appalling Astons.

 

As it turned out, it didn’t.

 

‘Ah, DeVere.’ Patrick Aston clapped him on the shoulder. Not easy, considering the difference in height. ‘Know you don’t want to talk business, old chap, but still wanted to talk to you about your shop. Sorry, sorry’ -he held up his hands- ‘national chain.’ Another of those unpleasant laughs, and he looked Richard over. ‘Very protective of you, our Audrey. That must set you back quite a bit, eh?’

 

‘What?’

 

Had Patrick Aston been even slightly more perceptive, he would have noticed the rather ominous stillness of the man standing next to him. But he wasn’t and he didn’t.

 

‘Fine looking filly, ain’t she? I always fancied a ride on her myself. Reckon she’s a bit of a goer. But you’d know all about that, eh, DeVere?’ He dug his elbow into Richard’s ribs. ‘Wasn’t quite the thing when Marton was still with us, but now that the old boy’s toddled off this mortal coil, Audrey can’t afford to be too picky, from what I hear. Unless you’re picking up all the tabs for her?’

 

They had reached the bar. Richard paid for one glass of champagne and said: ‘You’ll have to excuse me.’ He pushed the glass across the bar towards Patrick. ‘Your wife’s expecting that.’

 

On the other side of the ballroom, Audrey was having an equally unpleasant time at the hands of Annabelle Aston. Had she believed in karma, Audrey might have thought that it was some sort of cosmic payback for years of tolerating these people and pretending that she liked them.

 

Instead, Audrey thought that it was just sheer bad luck.

 

She barely listened as Annabelle wittered on; her attention, instead, was fixed on raking the room until she finally located her quarry at the bar. Talking to Patrick. Or rather, Patrick seemed to be talking at him, and Richard was wearing that inscrutable expression again. Audrey frowned. There was something worrying about the tightness in the lines of his jaw, as though he were holding something in that would have been dangerous to let out.

 

Partygoers obscured her line of sight and some of Annabelle’s words seeped in.

 

‘-scrubs up very well.’

 

‘Who does?’

 

‘Your gypsy friend. Of course, they’re a frightfully handsome race. Like that singer… David, something?’

 

‘Annabelle, what on earth are you talking about?’

 

Annabelle rolled her eyes.  ‘Your Mister DeVere, darling.’

 

Audrey’s nails bit into the palms of her hands. ‘Where, exactly, do gypsies fit into it?’

 

‘He is one, isn’t he?’

 

‘Richard is Czechoslovakian. By birth, anyway.’

 

Annabelle waved a hand. ‘Well, it’s all the same thing.’

 

‘No, it isn’t. And if he were, what of it?’

 

A shrug. ‘Nothing.’

 

‘Richard is English now. He has a British passport.’

 

‘God, Audrey! That doesn’t mean anything these days; they’re practically giving them away. Anyway, whatever he is, he’s not bad for rough trade.’

 

Audrey stared at her. ‘Rough trade? Richard?!’

 

Annabelle laughed, a brittle, incredulous sound. ‘Well, he may look the part but you can hardly call him a gentleman.’

 

Words swirled around her head that didn’t make it to her lips. Audrey sucked in a breath that rattled through her chest and pushed down hard on the white fury that was making the blood pound in her ears. Her cheeks were numb and when she did speak, she was amazed at how calm she sounded.

 

‘Not a gentleman. Not like your husband, you mean?’

 

‘Hardly!’

 

Audrey nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I see. Your husband who is such a gentleman that he just made me the single most obscene proposition it has been my misfortune to receive?’

 

Annabelle’s head turned sharply.

 

‘Yes, he offered to pay some of my bills in return for my … shall we say, being nice to him?’

 

‘What-’

 

‘I’ll tell you what I told him: if I were starving under a bridge and drugged up to the eyeballs, there still wouldn’t be enough money in the world for me to be civil to him, let alone “nice”.’ She pronounced the last word with awful irony and enjoyed the mottled colour that was rising in Annabelle’s face. ‘Really, Annabelle, I don’t know how you stand him – but I suppose that’s where the stable hands come in. They are still your preference, I suppose? If you’re after rough trade, I suggest that you stick with them. You see, unlike your repellent husband, Richard DeVere actually is a gentleman.’

 

She would have liked to have flounced off, but it was rather difficult to flounce anywhere in that crush. Her grand exit, however, was rescued somewhat by Richard making his way towards her.

 

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, when he reached her. ‘I had to make a phone call.’ He glanced at Annabelle and then back to her. ‘May I at least have this dance?’

 

Audrey accepted his hand and for the first bars of the music, concentrated on getting the anger that was jangling her nerves under control. It was ridiculous, really, she thought. The last time she had felt this level of rage had been the day she learnt that Marton had lost her the manor. The situations were hardly comparable and yet hearing those words from that odious woman-

 

She tried to push it away. ‘I thought you were avoiding business tonight,’ she said, distractedly.

 

‘I was. But this couldn’t wait.’ He looked at her keenly. ‘Is something wrong?’

 

‘No, everything’s fine.’ She attempted a smile and didn’t quite make it.

 

‘I’m afraid I didn’t quite hit it off with your friends.’

 

‘They’re no friends of mine! Patrick is a pig and Ann-’

 

‘What did he say to you?’

 

Audrey stumbled slightly as Richard stopped their movement across the dance floor. She looked up at him, startled – was even more startled by the expression in his eyes. She had seen Richard annoyed, certainly frustrated – usually with her – but never had she seen him angry.

 

‘Nothing.’ She tried to inject some reassurance into her tone. ‘Nothing I couldn’t handle.’

 

Which was true, although the memory of Patrick’s alcohol-flushed face near hers and his words slurring in her ear was extremely unpleasant.

 

Richard studied her for a long moment and then gathered her to him, holding her close as though trying to shield her from the world. There was more comfort in that one embrace than there had been in the whole of her marriage. And as they resumed their dance, swaying together gently, Audrey allowed herself the indulgence of resting her head on his shoulder, her eyes closing.

 

When he did speak, his voice was so low she didn’t realise it at first; she felt the words vibrating through his chest.

 

‘My mother was still young when my father died. There was never much money, but it left us even worse off – I can only imagine what she must have gone through. One of the few things she keeps to herself.’ She could feel him smiling and she laced her fingers through his. ‘But I remember when we were behind in the rent and the landlord came around. He said he’d let us off if…’

 

‘She was nice to him,’ Audrey supplied softly.

 

His breath stirred her hair. ‘Yes. It’s the only time I can remember seeing her cry. Really cry, I mean. So, I went to see him and I hit him.’

 

‘Good for you.’

 

‘Yes, except that I was fourteen and skinny and he could hit me a lot harder than I could hit him.’

 

Audrey’s head jerked back. ‘He beat you?’

 

‘He tried. But I was stubborn, or stupid, and I kept hitting him until he stopped hitting me. He was drunk, so that probably made it easier.’

 

‘What happened?’

 

‘We had a neighbour two doors down who ran a market stall. He offered me a job; so, my mother never had to worry about the rent again. And the rest, as they say, is history.’

 

Something of the familiar warmth had returned to his face, his dark eyes softening and he looked himself again. And it would be so easy to kiss him, Audrey thought; all she had to do was move her head very slightly and she could catch his lips with hers-

 

And then another, awful, thought occurred to her. ‘Oh, Richard, you’re not planning to beat up Patrick, are you? He’s not worth going to prison for!’

 

She felt the passing of that delirious, teetering moment with a stab of regret.

 

‘He certainly isn’t. And no, I’m not, but it’s very tempting. Although’ -his eyes gleamed- ‘you could say that I’ve already given him a bloody nose, metaphorically speaking.’

 

‘What does that mean? What have you done?’

 

Their fingers still entwined, he led her across the floor. ‘Come on, you might enjoy this.’

 

The Astons, when he located them, had clearly been arguing; both faces were flushed and Patrick pulled his wife aggressively through the crowds. Ordinarily, Richard would have pitied her, except for the fact that they seemed to be particularly well-suited in their mutual unpleasantness.

 

‘Aston.’ Richard looked down at him with every sign of contempt. ‘You’ll be receiving a phone call tomorrow: Cavendish Foods is cancelling its contract with you, with immediate effect.’

 

The small eyes bulged. ‘You-you can’t do that!’

 

‘I already have. Consider this a courtesy, which is far more than you deserve.’

 

‘You’ve already been underpaying me-’

 

‘For your wild salmon from your Scottish estate? Otherwise known as a fish farm. In Essex, isn’t it?’

 

His cheeks paled, his mouth opening and closing and for a moment, Patrick Aston bore an unhealthy resemblance to one of his own fish. ‘You bastard.’

 

Richard’s lip curled. ‘Is that really the best you can do?’ He landed a heavy hand on Patrick’s shoulder that nearly drove him through the floor. His tone, however, was almost cordial. ‘If you say another word to, or about, Audrey fforbes-Hamilton, it won’t just be Cavendish Foods you’ll have to worry about. I’ll make sure that every contract you have is cancelled; you’ll be bankrupt within six months. If you’re not arrested for fraud first.’ Richard drove his thumb into the nerve-bundle in the man’s shoulder and Patrick let out a little yelp of pain. ‘Never mind. Just business. Old chap.’

 

He turned, taking Audrey with him, and they managed a sweeping exit into one of the outer rooms. It was less crowded, cooler.

 

Audrey dug her heels into the floor and they stopped abruptly, Richard turning to face her.

 

‘I can fight my own battles.’

 

‘Oh, I know,’ Richard said with feeling.

 

‘I don’t need rescuing.’

 

‘I’m sorry if I overstepped the mark.’

 

He wasn’t sorry at all. Her lips curved into a smile. ‘No-one has ever defended my honour before. I have to admit, I quite liked it.’ Her head tilted, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she looked him over. ‘Is that how you conduct your board meetings?’

 

‘Ha! That was my best impression of an East End gangster. Scared the life out of me, back in the day.’

 

Audrey frowned and said uncertainly, ‘He was a business acquaintance?’

 

He actually laughed then - and then looked a little sheepish. ‘No, nothing to do with that. It was in Soho. And… And, well, there was this girl…’

 

‘Oh, I see.’

 

‘I didn’t know she was a gangster’s girl, until it was pointed out to me by this chap in a very expensive camel hair coat. Looked me dead in the eye and didn’t even raise his voice. It was terrifying.’

 

Audrey felt her lips twitch.

 

‘And what about that thing you did to his shoulder?’

 

‘I learned that at a boxing gym in Stepney.’

 

There was a hesitation in the way he said it. She looked at him expectantly. Richard blew out a breath.

 

‘As it turned out, it was owned by the same chap with the camel hair coat. He’s the one who taught me.’

 

‘Oh, Richard!’ Audrey buried her face in her hands and laughed. When she regained some semblance of control, she peered at him between parted fingers and saw the sparkle in his eyes. ‘I don’t know if I should believe half the things you say.’

 

His eyes widened. ‘If I was going to make something up, it would be something that cast me in a slightly more heroic light.’

 

‘Possibly…’ But laughter, along with being the best medicine, was a great aphrodisiac and she suspected that he knew it.

 

‘Would you rather we left?’

 

Audrey shook the hair out of her eyes. ‘What I would really like is a drink and then another dance.’

 

Richard considered this. ‘What’s the most expensive champagne they have here, do you think?’

 

‘I don’t know.’

 

He took her arm. ‘Well, let’s find out and buy some.’ He paused and what Marjory termed the twinkle in his eye was very much in evidence. ‘Too vulgar?’

 

Audrey smiled up at him. ‘Never.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richard's encounter with the girl and the gangster is based on an incident that actually happened to Peter Bowles.


	6. Saving Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picks up from 'Ladies and Gentlemen'.

_6\. Saving Face_

 

‘We’re late this morning, Brabinger,’ Audrey said, spearing a segment of her grapefruit.

 

‘Yes, Madam. After a late night at the ball, I thought it might be in order.’

 

Audrey nodded with more briskness than she felt. After their encounter with the Astons, the rest of the night had passed in a champagne-coloured haze and it was only when the band had finally exhausted their repertoire, had they left the dance floor. Her head was still feeling somewhat hazy as a consequence and her toes were not on speaking terms with her, but she didn’t regret a second of it.

 

Brabinger fussed around with the coffee pot and toast-rack. Audrey looked tired, he thought – which was to be expected when she hadn’t got home until gone two in the morning – but, more strikingly, she looked happy. She had even been humming to herself when she had come down to breakfast. The butler had never voiced his opinion of Richard DeVere to anyone, but privately he thought him to be an exceptionally pleasant gentleman. It was a view shared by most of the village.

 

Sally Henderson, the publican’s daughter, was one of the girls now working in the secretarial pool at the manor and her mother delighted in telling everyone – repeatedly, and at great length – how well Sally was treated, how good the salary was and how there was never the slightest hint of anything inappropriate with any of the girls. Unlike, she would add darkly, that Mr fforbes-Hamilton (though you shouldn't speak ill of the dead), who couldn’t have been trusted with a female of any species, let alone a pretty girl like her Sally.  

 

There were many who thought that Audrey did herself no favours in opposing Richard so vehemently and so frequently; but Brabinger’s view – as equally unvoiced as all his others – was that it would only be a spirited woman who would appeal to a man like Richard DeVere.

 

And Audrey, he reflected fondly, had never lacked spirit.

 

Similarly, it would take a man of considerable character to be Audrey’s equal and so far Mr DeVere’s record was unprecedented: he had won as many battles as he had lost and, even more important as far as Brabinger was concerned, he appeared to enjoy it.

 

The only danger was that they might enjoy the battles so much that they’d forget about the making up.

 

Brabinger placed on the table a silver salver piled with slips of paper. ‘Your messages, Madam.’

 

‘Messages?’ Audrey stared at them. ‘All of these since yesterday?’

 

‘Many people saw the television advertisement, Madam. I took the liberty of unplugging the telephone, as I did not think you would appreciate a disturbed night.’

 

‘I wouldn’t have. It… It is reconnected now?’

 

Brabinger’s face was a study in inscrutability. ‘Madam has reminded me.’ He slipped out of the room.

 

Not that it mattered, Audrey thought, rifling through the messages. But if someone had wanted to telephone her... Someone who had taken her out the previous evening, for example.

 

Well, strictly speaking, she had taken him as she had bought the tickets and invited him. Even if they had taken his car and he had paid for everything else and he had seen her home and then turned down her offer of a nightcap which had quite obviously been an offer of more than a nightcap. But if someone who vaguely fitted that description had wanted to speak to her, it would be nice if he could get through.

 

She had all but forgotten about the advertisement, but the messages brought back both that and the disquieting memory of how upset Mrs Polouvicka had been. And Audrey found that she heartily disliked being on the receiving end of the old lady’s displeasure.

 

And so it was on that chilly Saturday afternoon that Audrey fforbes-Hamilton set off, with Bertie, to do something wholly unexpected: she was going to apologise.

 

At the manor, Bertie was taken down to the kitchen for a bowl of water (and, knowing Bertie, a snooze in front of the range), while Audrey dutifully followed the housemaid to the library (and not, for once, the other way around).

 

She braced herself before entering. Despite rehearsing the lines in her head on the way over, she still wasn’t entirely sure what to say. Calling out ‘Sorry!’ when the hunt had trampled someone’s roses wasn’t quite the same thing as actually apologising. Or actually being sorry, even.

 

Audrey took a breath, walked into the room as the housemaid stood aside. Richard was leaning against the mantelpiece, his mother sitting on one of the sofas in the process of pouring out coffee. When Mrs Polouvicka saw her, she put down the pot and rose, crossing the room with her hands outstretched, just like she always did.

 

‘Audrey! Oh, I am so glad; I have been calling all morning.’

 

‘I told you it was too early,’ Richard interjected. His mother waved a silencing hand at him.

 

‘Your telephone is not working, I think.’

 

She had known it. She had known that there would be calls from the manor. Admittedly, she had been expecting it from another of the occupants, but even so.

 

Audrey took a breath. ‘Mrs Poo, I-’

 

‘I am so sorry for what I said last night.’ Mrs Polouvicka peered up at her anxiously.

 

‘Er…’

 

‘Bedrich explained what you did for him.’

 

‘Did he?’ She glanced over at where he was still leaning, looking like he was modelling weekend-wear for the well-to-do country gentleman, and also looking highly amused by the situation. The man really was insufferable.

 

‘Yes, and you are right, as always.’

 

‘I am? I mean, I am.’

 

Mrs Polouvicka shrugged. ‘Of course! Why should Bedrich pretend to be something he is not? He comes from a fine family.’

 

‘Absolutely, Mrs Poo.’

 

The old lady had hold of both of Audrey’s hands and patted them affectionately and pulled Audrey towards a sofa. ‘Come, have some coffee.’

 

‘Thank you.’ Audrey reached for a cup, which was immediately removed.

 

‘Oh, but not this coffee!’ She pressed a hand over her heart, shaking her head. ‘These girls do not know how to make it. I will make you some proper coffee, Audrey, and then we will have a proper chat. Bedrich, look after Audrey,’ she commanded.

 

‘Yes, Mother,’ he replied, humour still evident in his face.

 

He had watched Audrey from his vantage point across the room and he wondered if she had any idea just how hard it been to leave her the night before. With the events at the ball, the music, the dancing and the wine, she had softened completely. Richard knew enough of women to know when a clear invitation was being made and Audrey’s had been very clear. It was a moment that could have changed everything. Or ruined everything, more likely. It was still too soon, for both of them; and what he wanted from her was deeper, more profound than even his desire for her.

 

And now here she was again, looking even lovelier than at the ball, with the colour in her cheeks from her walk across the field and her hair slightly windblown. Now that they were alone, she walked towards him and smiled a little uncertainly.

 

‘Mother does make very good coffee,’ he said. ‘How are you today?’

 

‘A little pink-eyed.’

 

‘It doesn’t show, which is more than can be said for me.’

 

Audrey looked at him, considering. ‘I’ve seen worse.’

 

He laughed. ‘Thanks very much.’

 

A pause and silence poured into the room.

 

‘You didn’t have to do that, you know.’

 

‘Do what?’

 

‘What you told Mrs Poo.’ She fiddled with one of the buttons on her jacket and the clock in the room suddenly seemed terribly loud.

 

Richard shrugged. ‘I told her the truth. Unless, of course, you didn’t do it for me but did it for the money, because I can tell her that when she comes back in.’

 

‘Don’t you dare!’ Those blue eyes flashed and he laughed again. Laughter was safer.

 

‘I’ve had an offer for another endorsement,’ she told him, fishing in her pocket for the slip of paper.

 

Richard held out a hand and she gave it to him. He read it, then frowned and shook his head. ‘I’d stay away from that, if I were you.’

 

‘Oh?’

 

‘They’re about to be sued in America – you wouldn’t see a penny.’

 

‘Oh,’ she said, a little deflated, and then rallied. ‘Probably just as well. I wouldn’t want the fforbes-Hamilton name to be devalued by…’

 

‘Crass commercialism?’ His eyebrows raised – and was that a hint of condescension in his voice?

 

‘Over exposure,’ Audrey said, firmly. ‘Of course, you can do whatever you want with your name.’

 

‘Well, I don’t,’ he said casually and then grinned at her. ‘That’s why it’s called Cavendish Foods. Of course, if you’d like to endorse _that-_ ’

 

‘I would not!’

 

He erupted with laughter at that one.

 

Audrey watched him, suppressing the urge to laugh with him. She could add it to the list of things that she could hold against him: the fact that she couldn’t stay angry with him for longer than a few moments. And she couldn’t even really hold that against him, because she couldn’t stay angry…

 

Audrey scrunched up the message from the soon-to-be sued company and shoved it into her jacket pocket.

 

‘I should thank you, really. It’s getting to be a habit with you: the third time in twenty-four hours that you’ve saved my face.’

 

Her sudden switch in tone caught him off guard. That, and the way she looked up at him, her blue gaze steady and he said the first thing that came into his head.

 

‘I can’t help myself. It’s such a lovely face.’

 

And then Mrs Polouvicka came in, Bertie prancing ahead of her, and another moment was lost.

 

But one day, Audrey thought, watching Richard as he crossed the room to relieve his mother of the heavy tray. One day.


	7. No Man's Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes just over fifteen minutes to count to a thousand. So, what did Audrey and Richard get up to in that cupboard during the Christmas Day game of Sardines?

_7\. No Man's Land_

 

In the hallway, just out of earshot of Marjory and Mrs Polouvicka – as long as they kept their voices down – Audrey stopped, turned to Richard, still keeping hold of his hand.

 

‘I’m It,’ she told him, her voice low, ‘so I have to hide.’

 

‘In the broom cupboard.’

 

‘That’s right.’

 

‘I see,’ he said, and didn’t. ‘But if you’re supposed to be hiding-’

 

‘Everyone looks for the person who’s It, and when they find them, they join them in the hiding place.’

 

‘Doesn’t that get rather crowded?’

 

‘Yes, that’s the point.’

 

He frowned, trying to unscramble the complexities of the English upper classes. Every time he thought he had mastered them, they managed to perplex him completely. Although, he had to admit, no-one managed it quite as frequently or as comprehensively as Audrey fforbes-Hamilton.

 

‘Ah.’

 

‘So…’

 

Audrey nodded briskly, opened the cupboard door and slipped inside. It was terribly dark with the door closed. Dark, rather stuffy and, so far, entirely Richard-free.

 

It was, probably, mere seconds, but they felt unreasonably long and she had just started to wonder if she had grossly overrated his intelligence in expecting him to follow simple instructions when the door opened and for a moment there was a breath of air and he was silhouetted in the doorway, all height and broad shoulders. There was something very reassuring about the breadth of those shoulders.

 

‘Close the door,’ she hissed, grabbing a handful of the front of his jacket and pulling him in. The door swung to and he reached out to break its momentum, guiding it until it fell into place with a gentle click.

 

‘Now what?’ Richard asked of the inky darkness.

 

Audrey’s voice, barely more than a whisper, was close to his ear. Close enough that he could feel her breath against his cheek. ‘We wait until the next person finds us.’

 

There was something digging into his back and he shifted slightly and realised immediately that by doing so he was even closer against Audrey than he had been before. Which was saying something, considering that they seemed to be inhabiting what was unquestionably the smallest broom cupboard in England. Possibly even the whole of Europe.

 

The thing digging into his back was still digging into his back. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered in what he hoped was the vicinity of Audrey’s ear, ‘I just need to-’

 

He moved again, heard her suck in a quick breath and for one tantalising, excruciating, moment she was pressed hard against him. ‘Sorry.’

 

‘Quite all right.’

 

Her voice was breathy. A huskiness to it that he was sure he had never heard before but very much wanted to hear again. In the close confines of the cupboard, however, topics of casual conversation eluded him. He pondered the problem, one hand tracing idle circles on the object it had come to rest upon when he had made his inelegant entrance.

 

And then realised that the aforementioned object that his hand was repeatedly circling was a softly rounded portion of Audrey’s anatomy. His first instinct was immediate withdrawal until there was a second realisation: Audrey must have been aware of this from the start and had said nothing.

 

After thinking this over for a moment, Richard left his apparently inoffensive hand where it was.

 

Audrey’s own hands had come to rest against the front of his jacket, her fingers playing with his lapels. Not distracting, he told himself. Not at all. Not even a little bit. He cleared his throat.

 

‘This reminds me of that film.’

 

‘What film?’ Voice soft, her hands stroking the velvet across his chest. Richard sucked in a breath, tried to keep the tremor out of his reply.

 

‘Can’t remember the name. Audrey Hepburn and that chap from _Lawrence of Arabia._ ’

 

‘Omar Sharif?’ There was interest in her tone.

 

Richard laughed lightly. ‘No, the one who was actually Lawrence.’

 

‘Oh. Peter O’Toole.’

 

‘Yes, that’s the fellow. Anyway, they’re robbing an art museum and hide in the cupboard under the stairs.’ He paused. Maybe the point of this ridiculous game was that it made everyone just that bit more bold than they would be ordinarily. ‘I… I always rather fancied myself in a cupboard with an Audrey.’

 

It was Audrey who laughed now, a soft throaty sound that seemed to rob the close darkness of what oxygen there was.

 

‘Glad to have obliged.’

 

But you could keep Peter O’Toole, Audrey thought. Pretty enough back in his day, but she had never particularly cared for blonds. Tall, dark and handsome was much more appealing. Marton had been dark, at least. Until his hair had started thinning. Then he’d just been short, plump and pink. And something of a bore. And a boor, if she were completely honest. In every respect, Marton had been the complete opposite of the man currently sharing her broom cupboard.

 

And no man had the right to look as good as he did in dark green velvet. She enjoyed the feeling of its plush richness under her hands – enjoyed even more the solidity of him beneath all of that expensive fabric and the light, subtle scent of his cologne.

 

Tomorrow, no doubt, they would resume their sparring over some matter that no one else in the world thought important, but for now, for the count of a thousand, or maybe a little longer, they were in no man’s land.

 

And Audrey intended to enjoy every second of it - and then felt something that seemed to have innumerable legs against the back of her neck and up in her hair. She started, biting down on the inside of her cheek to stop the small squeal of revulsion.

 

‘What? What’s wrong?’ His voice sounded far too loud in the confined space.

 

‘Shhh! It’s nothing.’ She felt stupid, like one of those silly women who carried on at the sight of a harmless mouse. But there was still something stirring at the back of her head and she shuddered. ‘I think there’s a spider in my hair.’

 

The hand that had been resting almost chastely on the area just a little lower than her hip to be truly decent slid up and around and then both his hands met near the base of her spine and slowly travelled upwards, following the lines of her back. Audrey felt her breath shudder in her chest and then gasped slightly when his fingers gently ran against her neck, just dipping below the collar of her silk blouse. And then up again, carefully raking his fingers through her hair. His hands were strong, long fingers playing against her scalp, then twisting through the strands. She gripped his shoulders and tried to tell herself that that was not the only thing keeping her upright – and then abandoned that idea and gave herself over to the pure pleasure of his touch. Audrey’s eyes drifted closed and she leaned against him.

 

Too soon, it seemed, he smoothed her hair down and then his arms were loosely around her. ‘I couldn’t find anything.’

 

For a moment, she considered telling him that it had gone down the front of her blouse. But she reminded herself that she had been brought up a lady – although, lately she had been wondering if that was really all it was cracked up to be. Still, a habit of a lifetime was hard to break.

 

‘You probably dislodged it,’ she murmured, a little indistinct, her face so close to his now that she could feel his moustache brush against her cheek. It felt surprisingly soft and she wondered vaguely if he used some sort of specific moustache-maintenance product on it (she would discover later that he did) and if he got it from Cavendish Foods (he didn’t).

 

‘Audrey.’ His voice so low she felt it rather than heard it.

 

‘Yes, Richard?’

 

‘I-’

 

The cupboard door opened and they both blinked against the sudden light. Audrey caught a glimpse of Marjory’s triumphant face, her paper party hat still askew on her head, and experienced a spasm of the sort of emotion that lands people in the dock on a charge of manslaughter. The door closed again and three people shuffled in the ensuing dark. Richard, trying to make a little more room, ended with his arm somewhat stiffly around Marjory’s shoulders.

 

‘Oh, gosh,’ she murmured happily.

 

Enjoy it, Audrey thought irritably, and decided to allow Marjory precisely ten seconds of that awkward semi-embrace (that she couldn’t see but knew, instinctively, was happening) as a Christmas present. And then she would start screaming about a spider. Or a mouse.

 

Before she had counted to seven, however, Richard had a coughing fit that was explosively loud.

 

For the final time that night, the door opened and Maria Polouvicka – magisterial despite her diminutive stature – stared with undisguised bewilderment at the trio: Marjory, starry-eyed; Audrey pink-cheeked and her hair slightly ruffled; and then her son, wearing that curiously Sphinx-like expression that she recognised and of which she knew to be highly suspicious.

 

‘Is this the game?’

 

‘I think it’s over now, Mother,’ Richard said, removing his arm from Marjory’s shoulders.

 

‘And who won?’ she demanded. ‘If there’s a game, there has to be winner.’

 

‘You did, Mrs Poo,’ Audrey said brightly. ‘Well done. Time for drinks, I think,’ she added, before Marjory could suggest another round and make Richard It.

 

They filed out.

 

Richard closed the door, then brushed down his jacket, straightening his cuffs, one hand raising to smooth his still-immaculate hair.

 

Audrey, lingering in the hallway, watched this little performance. Richard met her gaze and smiled slightly.

 

‘I’m sorry about that – I seem to have cut the game short.’

 

Her eyebrows arched. ‘Yes… I should get Ned to sweep that cupboard out. Dust in your throat, I suppose.’

 

Amusement warmed his face, kindling a spark in his dark eyes. ‘Actually,’ he said lightly, ‘I think it was that spider of yours.’ Richard offered her his arm. ‘Shall we?’

 

Audrey tried to suppress a laugh and failed. She slipped her arm through his and they joined the others in the sitting room.


	8. The Huntress: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up from 'The Spare Room'.

_8\. The Huntress: Part One_

 

Marjory pressed the bell at the lodge for the second time and while she was, outwardly, patient, she was aware of a sense of unease. Audrey had been in a very strange mood the night before and Marjory was not entirely certain what she would find at the lodge. She remembered someone telling her once that a true friend is one who will help you hide a body and she truly hoped that Audrey’s new-found zealotry against Podge – _Diana_ , she corrected herself – hadn’t gone too far.

 

Still, there were always the woods behind the lodge.

 

The door opened, at last, and Ned peered at her blearily. ‘Mornin’’

 

Marjory beamed at him. She couldn’t help it; she was like that with everyone. ‘Good morning, Ned. How’s your back?’

 

‘Aches somethin’ chronic, Miss. I mean, Ma’am. Ain’t been right since that night up at the manor. Don’t know how Mister DeVere stands them soft beds. Must be a martyr to lumbago.’

 

‘Yes…’ For a moment she was lost in a waking fever-dream of Richard and a soft bed and if he was in pain and needed someone sympathetic and comforting and willing to rub liniment into him- Pull yourself together, she told herself; and realised that her inner voice sounded disturbingly like Audrey.

 

As Ned showed no sign of welcoming her into the lodge, Marjory breezed past him. ‘Is Audrey about?’

 

‘Haven’t seen the mistress. T’other one’s still upstairs, mind.’

 

‘Oh. Yes. Right. Well, I’ll wait for her to come down.’

 

Ned shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’

 

Audrey may have had a point, Marjory thought, when she said that you couldn’t get the staff these days. She let herself into the sitting room. The fire hadn’t been lit yet and it was chilly. Marjory looked for logs and kindling but the basket by the hearth was bare. She pulled the coat she was still wearing closer around her slender frame and her drift around the room took her towards the french windows. The manor was an imposing shape from here, impossible to make out any details. She looked around, a little furtively, for Audrey’s binoculars. And then reminded herself that there was no-one else there.

 

A more open, thorough search soon located them.

 

Marjory took up the by now traditional vantage point and raised the glasses, feeling a thrill of transgression. And also, if she were honest, trepidation. She had almost – _almost­ –_ made peace with the fact that Richard would never look at her the way that he looked at Audrey – or even the way that he had looked at Pod- Diana. But she was still woman enough to think that under the right circumstances then maybe, just maybe, he might. So, she was not looking forward to the possibility of seeing Richard and Audrey locked in an embrace.

 

The house had just come into focus and she saw movement behind one of the ground-floor windows-

 

‘Marjory?’

 

She let out a yelp, spinning around and trying to hide the binoculars behind her back.

 

Diana smiled sleepily. ‘You’ve still kept it up!’

 

Marjory’s mouth opened and closed. ‘Uh…’

 

‘Bird watching.’ The words were partly lost in a stifled yawn.

 

‘Yes! Yes, I have. And badgers. There’s a badger sett just behind the lodge.’

 

‘Oh, is there?’

 

It was just as well that Richard hadn’t seen Diana in the mornings, Marjory thought. Dark hair falling in careless tendrils, her eyes heavy and her face still attractively flushed with sleep, and wrapped in Audrey’s dressing-gown, she looked quite beautiful. It still seemed incredible that this willowy creature was the one-time Podge Hodge, shot-put champion of the school three years running.

 

Diana curled herself onto the sofa, stretched out her arms languorously. ‘Audrey not up yet?’

 

‘Oh. I, er, I don’t know.’ Marjory slid the binoculars in what she optimistically believed to be a surreptitious manner onto the mantelpiece.

 

‘I feel awfully guilty.’

 

Marjory dropped into the chair opposite her. So, it was true. There had been far more than just going to the pub and if Richard married Diana, Audrey would go out of her mind, and if he were going to marry anyone who wasn’t Audrey, why couldn’t it be her?

 

‘I hope Audrey was able to get some sleep – that funny little man of hers is terribly sweet but nuts in the bed aren’t exactly restful. And she’s been so kind – well, you all have – but I was so tired after the hunt. I don’t even remember lying on her bed, let alone falling asleep on it.’ Diana smiled ruefully. ‘Not as young as I once was.’

 

Marjory sagged with relief. ‘Oh! But you needn’t feel too bad: Audrey slept at the manor.’

 

‘Oh? Oh…’ Diana laughed slightly, shaking her head. ‘Good for her! But why on earth didn’t Audrey just say that’s how it is? Why all the secrecy?’

 

‘What? No. Oh, no!’  Marjory, now bolt upright, gazed at her old school chum in despair. ‘I don’t mean it like that. I don’t think. Oh…’

 

Diana watched this with growing consternation, swung her feet off the sofa and sat forward. ‘Marjory, it really can’t be such an issue, surely? They’re both, well, of age, and both single, aren’t they?’

 

‘Well, yes. But they aren’t-’ Marjory took a breath. ‘Audrey took your room at the manor. Richard wouldn’t even have known she was there… He probably does by now, though.’

 

Puzzled, Diana shook her head. ‘It sounds terribly complicated. If I had a man like that on my doorstep, I’d be in there like a shot. He is lovely.’

 

‘Yes, he is,’ Marjory agreed. And then- ‘You don’t mean he-’

 

‘No, of course not! Richard has been a perfect gentleman.’ A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. ‘Although, I certainly wouldn’t have minded if he’d been less of one for an hour or so.’

 

‘Half an hour would do,’ Marjory said, folorn.

 

Diana’s lips twitched into a wide smile. ‘Quite a harem he’s got here.’

 

Marjory sighed, lost again. ‘If only…’

 

‘Oh, Marjory!’ Diana regarded her with sympathy. ‘He’d be jolly lucky to have you. And I don’t mean as part of a harem.’

 

‘Oh, gosh.’ Marjory laughed suddenly, settling back in her seat. ‘I say, this _is_ fun. Audrey always gets frightfully put out whenever one talks about Richard being attractive, as though he weren’t.’

 

‘Of course he is, he’s gorgeous!’

 

‘Yes!’

 

Diana’s lips pushed out, thoughtful. ‘So, Audrey doesn’t want him, but she doesn’t want anyone else to have him, is that it?’

 

Marjory hesitated, feeling pulled in too many directions at once. Audrey was her best friend, but she could be impossible at times. She hadn’t known Richard very long, but he had become so much a part of Grantleigh that it was impossible to think of the place without him. And Diana was one of the Old Girls, even if she hadn’t seen her for years.

 

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Marjory said slowly. ‘It’s very difficult for Audrey, with the manor and all that.’

 

Diana tilted her head. ‘Does she want the manor or Richard?’

 

The silence seemed to stretch into forever before Marjory finally said, ‘I don’t know.’

 

She didn’t think Audrey knew anymore, and for a woman who had spent her entire life being certain of everything, that must be terrifying.

 

Rescue from what was becoming a very awkward conversation arrived in the unlikely form of Ned, who threw open the door and stated: ‘Mister DeVere wants to talk to you.’

 

 Marjory blinked at him. ‘Me, Ned?’

 

‘Aye. On the telephone.’

 

‘Oh. Right!’

 

It was a short call, but one that still left her in a glow. There was a wonderful, velvety warmth in Richard’s voice that seemed even more in evidence on the telephone. She imagined that voice in her ear, in the morning, just after waking-

 

She gave herself a shake. This really was getting out of hand.

 

‘We’re both invited up to the manor for breakfast,’ Marjory announced happily, bouncing back into the sitting room.

 

Diana, who was overseeing the building of the fire in the hearth, straightened. ‘Marvellous! Audrey won’t mind my borrowing her wellies, will she?’

 

‘I wouldn’t have thought so.’

 

Diana strode into the hallway, located the items in question and pulled them on. ‘Right. Shall we go?’

 

Marjory stared at her. ‘But- But you’re not dressed!’

 

‘Of course I’m not. All my things are at the manor. Come on!’

 

Marjory followed her, experiencing an all too familiar sinking feeling. Audrey was not going to like this one bit.


	9. The Huntress: Part Two

_9\. The Huntress: Part Two_

 

They took the short cut across the fields, Diana taking care to keep the skirts of Audrey’s dressing gown free of any mud.

Marjory spent the walk recalling Audrey’s scathing – yet suspiciously detailed – description of Richard’s morning attire and was hopeful of a chance to see for herself the meticulously co-ordinated pyjamas and silk dressing gown.

In that, she was to be disappointed. By the time they reached the manor and were shown to the library, Richard was casually – but, as always, perfectly – dressed in his weekend tweeds. He greeted Marjory warmly, took one look at Diana and burst out laughing.

‘Is that the latest trend?’

Diana obligingly twirled on the spot, showing off her borrowed wellies. ‘It’s how they’re wearing it in Paris this year.’ Seeing Audrey sitting on one of the sofas, Diana smiled apologetically. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Audrey. But all my clothes are here.’

‘It’s perfectly all right,’ Audrey replied, perfectly equitable.

Contrary to fears, Audrey was taking it all remarkably well. In fact, Marjory thought, she was almost glowing. There was something triumphant in that smile.

‘I’d really rather dress before breakfast,’ Diana said.

‘Of course. I’ll show you the way.’

A few paces along the corridor and Richard slowed. ‘Diana.’

She looked up at him enquiringly.

‘You don’t have to drive on, if you don’t want to. You could stay a few days.’

Diana paused, catching her breath. ‘It’s tempting,’ she said, and meant it. ‘But I don’t think it would be a very good idea.’

He didn’t pretend not to understand what she meant and after a moment said, ‘Yes, you’re probably right.’

They resumed their walk along the corridor.

‘It’s been quite a weekend. Although, not quite the one I expected.’

‘Nor me.’

Diana laughed. ‘You’re very lucky to have friends who care about you so much.’

Richard was dubious. ‘They have a rather strange way of showing it.’

‘Well, they’re protecting you from the wiles of a devious divorcée.’

‘Oh, is that what you are?’ His eyes crinkled. Diana sighed.

‘No, not really.’

‘I didn’t think so. Anyway, who says they’re not protecting you from a cad and a bounder?’

Diana regarded him from the corners of her eye. He had the looks, but from what she could tell of him, he really didn’t seem the type. He was that rare breed: a one-woman-man. ‘In the nicest possible way, I think we all know I don’t need protecting from you.’

He feigned offence. ‘But I need protection?’

‘Well, men are the weaker sex.’

Richard laughed. ‘Don’t I know it.’

She smiled up at him. ‘The right answer!’ A pause, and then: ‘It has been lovely seeing old friends again. I can’t believe how little they’ve changed. Marjory was always quite the nicest girl in the school – and she still is the sweetest person.’

‘Yes, she is,’ Richard agreed.

If anyone deserved to have a handsome millionaire doting on her, Diana thought, it was Marjory. But while Richard’s affection for her was obvious, it was equally obvious that it was no more than that. Still, from what she had heard of Marton fforbes-Hamilton, Audrey deserved some luck herself. And best of luck to her.

‘Here we are.’ He had delivered her safely to her door.

‘I’ll only be a few minutes.’

‘Famous last words…’

She struck him on the arm.

In the library, Marjory was eyeing Audrey with apprehension. She really was looking far too pleased with herself.

Audrey spread her arms out along the sofa cushions, letting her head drop back. ‘It was quite like old times, waking up at the manor,’ she said, her eyes closed. ‘Being brought my morning tea by the lord, as it were, of said manor-’

‘Audrey!’ She gazed at her friend in shock. ‘You-you didn’t! Did you?’ Her voice raised on a bat-squeak of outraged curiosity and for the second time that morning, Marjory felt her knees give way and she dropped to the sofa beside her friend.

Audrey didn’t raise her head, simply turned it, a playful smile tugging at the corner of her lips. ‘I didn’t what?’

‘You know… You and-and… Richard..’

‘Marjory, stop twittering and just say what it is you want to say.’

‘I-’ Marjory swallowed hard. ‘Where did you sleep last night?’

‘In the Chinese room.’

‘And Richard? Wh-where did he…’

Audrey narrowed her eyes momentarily and then answered lightly, ‘His own room, presumably.’

‘All night?’

‘Yes, all night, as far as I know.’ Audrey sat up. ‘Honestly, Marjory, what do you take me for?’

Marjory thought about it for a moment, and bit back the first answer that sprang to mind. ‘It was just with your being so jealous of Podge-’

‘I am not jealous of Podge!’ Audrey’s voice was a little too loud, her tone a fraction too sharp. ‘I am merely preserving the integrity of the manor.’

‘Oh…’ Marjory nodded wisely. ‘Of course.’

Audrey let her head drop back again and continued in a more reasonable manner, ‘I passed a perfectly pleasant, mercifully uneventful night.’

Which was true, but the night had not been quite as restful as Audrey’s (attempted) insouciance would indicate. Being back at the manor had been heavenly. The large bed in the Chinese room wonderfully soft, and all of the familiar sounds of the house settling around her – the creak of wood as the night air cooled, the occasional groan of the old piping – and it would have lulled her to sleep. If she hadn’t been listening for other sounds. The squeak of a floorboard as someone made their way down the hall, perhaps; the soft turning of the door-handle…

It wasn’t that she was expecting Richard to come stealing in with the intention of making passionate love to Podge, but it was a possibility. A tiny possibility.

But there had been nothing.

She had, finally, slept, waking in time to arrange the riding habit beneath the sheets. Yes, he had invited Podge to stay longer, but there was nothing lascivious in that offer, no indication of any real interest in her. And after the initial surprise (honestly, clutching his dressing-gown as though she were about to mount an attack on his honour) he had not seemed unduly dismayed to find Audrey loitering in one of his spare bedrooms.

It was, in the end, a breakfast fuelled by laughter and a very excellent Champagne. So by the time it came for Diana to leave, Audrey was feeling quite kindly towards her old friend. Not kindly enough to ask her to prolong her stay, but friendly enough that she truly wished her the very best. After all, Podge was just trying to rebuild her life again. Just as long as she rebuilt it somewhere else. Another county, for instance. Like Yorkshire, perhaps. Or Northumberland.

Diana hugged her. ‘Thanks, Audrey. I really do appreciate it. It’s been such fun seeing you both. And please thank Richard again for me. And his mother – she’s an absolute sweetheart.’

Audrey smiled fondly. ‘Yes, Mrs Poo has become a local treasure.’

Diana looked startled. ‘Mrs what?’

Audrey’s smile slipped a fraction. ‘Mrs Poo. Richard’s mother.’

Diana stared at her for a moment. ‘Yes, well. Please do thank Mrs Polouvicka for me.’

Audrey waved her off, then shut the front door with a little more force than necessary. The next old friend who wanted to stay, she thought grimly, would have to shift for herself.


	10. What’s in a Name?

_10\. What’s in a Name?_

 

The horses were grouped together while the hounds circled, trying to pick up the scent again. The Brigadier pulled up beside them, raising his crop in greeting and eyeing Marjory appreciatively.

‘I say, my dear Marjory, you’re looking damned pretty today!’

‘Thank you, Brigadier.’

Marjory always looked well at the hunt: the riding habit suited her figure and the activity brought colour into her cheeks and a spark to her eyes. If only it brought a suitor a few decades younger, Audrey thought, watching as her friend skilfully edged her horse away from the Brigadier’s.

‘Good sport today, Brigadier,’ Audrey called, moving her own horse forward to provide some cover for Marjory.

‘Eh? Ah, yes! Capital! DeVere seems to have found his footing – or should that be seating?’ He laughed heartily at his own joke.

But it was true. Richard’s seat was better, his hold on the reins looser, and he actually looked as though he were enjoying the course rather than dreading it. Whatever it was that Podge had taught him, it had certainly paid off. Not such a bad idea to pair them, after all – although, Audrey couldn’t shake off the annoying voice in her head that asked, with wearying persistence, why she hadn’t taken on the task herself.

The horn sounded and they moved off again, galloping across the field and around the spinney. Leaning forward in the saddle, Audrey rode hard, exhilarated, heart pounding. Emerging from behind the trees, they headed down a steep incline and a dry-stone wall rushed towards them. It was a tricky jump and Audrey’s eyes sought out Richard, near the head of the pack. He was still vastly inexperienced and a fall now could prove disastrous. Fatal, even. He should pull up, find another way around-

His horse, with its rider, cleared the obstacle with apparent ease and raced across the next field, keeping pace with the leaders.

Audrey let out a breath of relief, her body sagging slightly.

Which was just as well, because as her own mount approached the wall it dug its hooves in and pitched her over it.

  
  
*****

 

‘Are you sure you’re all right, Audrey? That looked like a terrible fall.’

Anxious, and careful, Richard reached up to help her off the horse.

‘I’m fine,’ she replied, with no small measure of hauteur, aware of her muddied clothes and the scratch across her cheek. ‘I’m surprised you saw it, being so far ahead.’

‘I saw it after the event, but still…’

Once she had made sure that her horse had not been lamed, or otherwise hurt, she had roundly cursed the beast before remounting and catching up the hunt.

Now, back at the manor, amid the cheerful chatter of the returning riders and bustle of grooms around the steaming mounts, Audrey longed for a drink and to forget about the whole thing.

She allowed Richard to help her down, sucking in a breath as her landing jarred her bruised ribs. Richard frowned.

‘I’ll find the doctor.’

‘I’m fine. Pride damaged more than anything.’

‘How did it happen, anyway? Out of the two of us coming off, I would have put money on it being me.’

‘I was distracted,’ Audrey replied vaguely. She started towards the manor, suppressing an involuntary moan as various muscles protested.

‘Here.’ Richard put a supporting arm around her.

‘Don’t think of carrying me,’ she warned.

‘I wouldn’t presume.’

‘Oh.’ And then, ‘Ow!’ She hopped on one foot.

‘For goodness sake, come here.’ Richard picked her up effortlessly, sweeping up the stone steps with her in his arms as though she weighed nothing.

‘I’ll find the doctor once you’re settled.’

‘No! No need. It’s nothing a sit down and a stiff drink won’t fix.’ Her arms had linked around his neck automatically and she resisted the urge to lay her head on his shoulder.

Through the hallway, on into the drawing room and Richard deposited her with care onto one of the sofas. Maria Polouvicka descended on them immediately.

‘Audrey! But how is this? Are you hurt?’

‘It’s nothing,’ Audrey replied airily. ‘Just a tumble, Mrs Poo- Polouvicka.’

The old lady clasped her hands, her eyes filling with tears.

Richard cleared his throat. ‘Mother, could you get Audrey a drink?’

‘Of course,’ she murmured.

He was on one knee beside the sofa and between that pose and their spectacular entry into the manor, Audrey was indulging in a pleasant daydream until Richard said, ‘Audrey, this may not be the time, but whatever it is, will you please talk to her about it.’

Pulled out of her reverie, Audrey blinked at him. ‘Talk to who?’

‘My mother.’

‘About what?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know! But whatever it is, it can’t be that bad, surely?’

She stared for a moment. ‘I don’t seem very bright today. I don’t have any problems with your mother.’

‘Then what-’ He blew out a breath and there was a sudden anger in his face. ‘You don’t mean it’s something I’ve done! Really, Audrey, you can’t take it out on her, it isn’t fair.’

Sitting straighter against the cushions, Audrey fixed him with a firm, if bewildered, eye.

‘Richard. I am not taking anything out on anyone. I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

He watched her for a moment. ‘Then why have you started calling her Mrs Polouvicka?’

‘Well… It’s her name.’

‘Yes, I know that. But you’ve never called her that before. It’s always been Mrs Poo.’

She seemed to flinch then, her eyes dropping, one finger tracing a pattern on the seat cushion. ‘It struck me that, well, that might not be the nicest name to call someone. And it’s not as though I can’t pronounce Polouvicka perfectly well.’ She paused. It had started off out of anger, a sign of disdain for these people who had taken her beloved manor. But it had become something else. ‘It was meant affectionately. I like your mother a great deal.’

‘Yes, I know that,’ he said gently. ‘She knows that.’ Audrey glanced up at him and there was softness in his eyes now, and he was leaning towards her. There was an unexpected tenderness in his face. ‘She thinks you’re angry with her. It’s the first time she’s had a pet name since my father died.’

Audrey’s eyes widened slightly. ‘Really?’

He shrugged. ‘Possibly. But she’s been saying it five times a day for the past week.’

‘I thought you’d been in London all week.’

‘She’s been ringing me up to tell me.’

Audrey let out a breath of laughter. ‘Richard, I am sorry.’

‘Just talk to her – for my sake, as much as hers.’

‘I will.’ Audrey swung her feet off the sofa, strode across the room.

Still kneeling, Richard watched her progress, his head shaking slightly. Audrey reached Maria and it seemed to be a short conversation: almost immediately Audrey was wrapped in one of his mother’s smothering hugs and he felt a pang of sympathy for her already abused ribs.

Richard stood, brushed off his hands and made his way around the room, exchanging words with the other muddy, happy members of the hunt, until he reached Audrey at the drinks table.

She was enjoying the outsize whisky that Maria had poured for her and he poured one for himself.

‘It’s all cleared up,’ she said cheerfully.

‘So I saw. And I see your limp has also cleared up.’

Audrey choked on her drink and after a moment replied with great dignity, ‘It comes and goes.’


	11. Shadows: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set around the time of ‘Never be Alone’.

_11\. Shadows: Part One_

 

  
Bertie had accompanied her across the field to the manor, his canine snuffling a pleasant accompaniment to the brisk air and sound of her own feet ringing against the hard earth. A sudden frost had left everything with a layer of white that had remained unchanged all day and now, with the lowering sun red, a mist was rising, threading through the trees.

Audrey skirted the terrace, pulling the french windows to the library a little wider. The room was dim, the fire low and giving only a faint glow. It looked empty and Audrey was about to head for the front door when she saw the figure, motionless, on the sofa. She tapped softly.

‘Richard?’

He looked up, gazed at her for a moment as though not really seeing her and then smiled, stood.

‘Audrey. This is a nice surprise. Come in.’

Bertie was ahead of her, trotting over to Richard for a scratch behind the ears before taking himself over to the fireplace, turning around three times and then flopping down on the hearth rug.

‘You can also make yourself at home,’ he said to her, eyes crinkling with amusement.

‘Bertie is presumptuous,’ Audrey stated, regarding the beagle critically.

‘Can’t imagine where he gets it from.’

‘What was that?’

‘Drink?’

‘Please.’

A sherry for her, a whisky for himself, and Richard joined her on the sofa. ‘What can I do for you?’

He raised his cigar to his lips, head tilted, watching her through the smoke, dark eyes glittering. It was a simple gesture but she was caught by the graceful economy of his movement, caught again by the well-shaped hand with the long fingers. He had the fine hands of a musician, not a businessman. She imagined their strength, remembered the feeling of them raking through her hair-

Audrey shook herself, collected her thoughts by burrowing through her handbag. ‘I was just bringing you these.’

A handful of receipts from the parish council. Something that could have been put in an envelope and dropped through the letterbox. Nothing that necessitated a tramp across the field.

He took them from her. ‘Thanks, I’ll just, er…’ He stood, crossing to a table and securing them under a paperweight. It was getting dark, he realised, and there was a shocking draft coming from the open windows. Richard moved around the room, drawing curtains, flicking on a lamp.

Audrey felt herself relaxing into the warmth, aided by the exceptionally good sherry. Richard had always been a considerate and generous host. Her gaze drifted to the coffee table in front of her; its surface was covered in leather backed albums and photographs.

‘Reorganising?’ she asked.

‘Mother,’ he replied, over his shoulder, coaxing the fire back into a semblance of life. ‘Every now and then she goes into one of her nostalgic moods.’

‘I love old family photographs,’ Audrey said – a statement that would surprise no-one. She leaned forward and her eye was taken by a young couple captured in sepia tones. They wore the serious expressions that people always had in those pictures. The clothes and the girl’s waved hair placed them in the 1930s, but there was no question who they were. Mrs Poo had been a remarkably pretty girl, Audrey thought, looking at a sweet, fresh face. You could still see the humour in her eyes, despite the solemnity of her expression. Her husband, standing behind her seated figure, with one hand on her shoulder, had been a big man. The same broad shoulders and musician’s hands that his son had inherited.

She replaced the photo, picked up another that had caught her attention. Richard, clean-shaven and short-haired, but unmistakable. A white flower in his buttonhole and the girl on his arm in a bridal gown. His wedding day. They were both beaming at the camera, faces alive with happiness and hope.

Her own wedding photos also showed a smiling couple, but they were the polite, socially-required smiles that didn’t reach their eyes. This pair glowed, clearly revelling in the joy of one another.

All that Audrey knew of Richard’s wife was that she had died, and that her name had been Anna. And that detail was courtesy of Mrs Polouvicka. For someone as expansive as Richard seemed, there was a lot that he didn’t talk about, she realised.

She studied the image. So, this was Anna. A strikingly beautiful face, strong yet fine-boned. A cloud of black hair and eyes as dark and lustrous as her husband’s. They were a handsome couple.

Audrey stirred the pile of photos, picked up another. Anna DeVere, standing in a garden, smiling, squinting slightly against the sun in her eyes, and very obviously heavily pregnant.

‘Richard! I didn’t know you had any children.’ She knew. Before she had finished the sentence, certainly before she looked up and saw the expression in his eyes, she knew. It was clear in his face, a deep, old, hurt.

Of all the stupid, ridiculous things to say, she told herself, savagely.

Standing behind the sofa, he was looking over her shoulder at the photograph that she now held between her fingers as though it burnt. He let out a long breath and when he spoke his voice was gentle.

‘She only lived for twelve hours. Not much of a life. We named her Theresa.’

‘Richard, I… I am so sorry.’

‘It was a long time ago, now.’

Why didn’t he tell her to mind her own business and go? But he kept talking, his voice slow and soft and she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. ‘It was a difficult birth and…’ He let out another breath. ‘Well, we couldn’t have children after that.’

It was the ‘we’ that got her. Can’t possibly be me, Old Girl, had been Marton’s pronouncement, and that had been that, despite all the doctors telling her that there was no reason why she couldn’t conceive.

Richard moved around the sofa and she felt his weight settle beside her. Audrey glanced at him; he was looking at Anna’s photograph and there was a small smile playing about his lips. Audrey’s own felt dry and she moistened them before saying cautiously, ‘You never talk about her.’

He considered this for a few moments. ‘Well, it’s difficult talking about someone to people who never knew her. I’d known Anna since we were children.’

Somehow it wasn’t quite the image she’d had. ‘Childhood sweethearts?’

He blinked, slowly, his eyes refocusing as though pulling back from a memory. ‘No… No, actually. We were friends- Well, I was friends with her brother, but we were friendly. Then we lost touch for a long time. We met again by chance; she was doing some modelling work.’

Of course she was, Audrey thought, looking again at the exquisite structure of her face.

Richard let out a laugh. ‘She was advertising cheese, I seem to remember.’

‘Cheese?’

‘Yes, they were heady days.’ Another smile. ‘We had a mutual photographer friend, that’s how it came about. My big in was asking to hire her for a shoot and she promptly argued me into the most exorbitant price. She had a better head for business than I do.’

Warmth, admiration in his voice, in his face. He had loved this woman. Was that the reason he had left London, Audrey wondered – he simply couldn’t bear to be in the place where she no longer was?

‘I think that’s what I miss the most – someone you can talk to about anything.’ He paused and then added almost apologetically, ‘But you know all about that.’

Audrey met a non-committal sound in the back of her throat. Finally, she put the picture back on top of the pile.

There was silence for a time and then Richard roused himself, nimble fingers flicking through the photographs until he found what he was looking for.

‘If you need a good laugh, feast your eyes on this handsome chap. There.’ He presented it to her with a flourish and Audrey did indeed burst out laughing. Richard sat back, taking a draw on his cigar and evidently enjoying her amusement.

‘The caption for that should be “My First Fruit Stall”,’ he said. ‘Not the first one that I worked on, but the first one that was actually mine.’

‘How old are you here?’

‘Sixteen.’

‘It’s a very fetching cap.’ She failed to keep the tremor out of her voice.

‘Yes, as a barrow boy you have to wear those by law.’

‘Really?’

He looked at her scathingly through wreaths of cigar smoke.

‘Oh.’ She remembered an earlier conversation. ‘Was this the era of Freddie?’

Richard grimaced. ‘That was the end of Freddie, thank God.’

Audrey studied the photograph closely, marvelling at how the skinny boy with the wicked grin had transformed himself into the debonair sophisticate sitting beside her.

Sixteen. She had laughed at first, but it wasn’t actually funny. He had just been a child, really. ‘Wasn’t there something you wanted to be?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Didn’t you have dreams of what you wanted to be when you grew up?’

‘Train driver,’ he said promptly.

‘I’m serious!’

‘So am I! It was what all self-respecting boys wanted to be. I still have my dreams: make enough money to buy the railways, then drive trains up and down the country.’

Audrey shook her head. ‘You do talk such nonsense.’

He grinned at her.

And it was a neat deflection, she thought. And wondered if he was regretting how far he had let her in. If he did, it didn’t show and Audrey allowed herself to be persuaded to stay for dinner. Mrs Polouvicka was, predictably, delighted – even more so when told that Audrey had seen some of the old photographs. The after-dinner entertainment, as a result, was Mrs Polouvicka giving Audrey an enthusiastic guide to the family history, with visual aids. Richard observed most of this from the sidelines, offering the occasional sardonic comment.

But the image that stayed with her the longest was of Richard sitting in the gathering gloom, alone with his shadows.

 


	12. Shadows: Part Two

_12\. Shadows: Part Two_

 

‘ _We’ll get a second opinion.’_

_‘That was the second opinion.’_

_‘A third opinion, then.’_

_‘No.’_

_He was pacing the room and she waited patiently until he finally stopped and faced her._

_‘We’ll fight this.’_

_‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘We won’t. There is nothing that “we” can do. There’s nothing you can do. This isn’t something that you can fix, my darling. And I don’t want to die that way.’_

_‘You’re not-’_

_‘Yes, I am.’_

_They watched each other for long moments and then he crossed the room, sat beside her. His jaw was tight, eyes glinting, ready to take on the world._

_She took a steadying breath. ‘All they can offer me is a year, at best. And that’s a year of tests and procedures and treatments and pain. And I don’t want it. And I don’t want your last memories of me to be that. I’d much rather have a few months, with you, where I’m myself.’_

_He had always been so strong, resilient, prepared for every challenge. And what she was asking of him now went against everything that was in him. To give in, surrender. This beautiful man who was the centre of her world. She didn’t want to leave him, but that was a choice that had been made for her and she would have to._

_‘I’ve made up my mind. I can be just as stubborn as you, you know that. Please don’t fight me. Not on this. Not now.’_

_His head was lowered and then he looked up at her and his face was raw and bleak, with a look that she hadn’t seen since they had lost Theresa. A shudder passed through him, his eyes closing for a moment and when he opened them again he was resolved. ‘All right.’_

_Anna took his face in her hands and immediately he turned his head, pressing his lips into the palm of her hand. She ran her fingers through his hair, thick and silken, before resting her hand against cheek._

_‘Richard, promise me something.’_

_He managed a smile. ‘Anything.’_

_‘When this is over-’_

_He tried to pull away but she held onto him, making him look at her._

_‘Darling, this is important. And I need to say it now and I need you to promise me.’_

_His hands closed around her wrists, warm and strong. ‘All right, sweetheart. I promise.’_

_Her fingers stroked his face._

_‘Don’t ever be lonely.’_

Richard stared at the photograph, holding it gently by the corners. He should put it with the rest. It was time. The last picture with Anna. His arms around her were protective but it was a futile gesture; he couldn’t save her from the war that her own body was waging against her. She had been so thin then, fragile for the first time in her life and he had felt it when he held her, bones sharp beneath the skin.

But there was still defiance in the way they looked into the camera. They would be happy, despite everything. And they had been.

He placed the photograph on the desk, leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against the smooth wood. Restlessness ran through him like a fever, along with a dizzying whirlpool of thoughts. Anna, that ridiculous business with the Egyptian pot, his mother and her confession about the workmen, Audrey…

_Don’t ever be lonely._

Anna’s dark eyes seemed to gleam at him from every corner.

  
*****

Audrey started at the tap against the window, twisting around in the armchair and found Richard looking back at her through the slightly open door from the terrace.

‘Richard! What-’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- I know it’s late. I can go round to the front door.’

She stood up. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Come in.’

From his basket, Bertie regarded the newcomer blearily and thumped his tail by way of greeting.

‘Not the world’s greatest guard dog.’ There was an unfamiliar edge to his voice.

‘Well, he knows you.’ Audrey scanned his face and didn’t like what she saw. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Yes, it’s just I- I really am sorry about all of that business with that damned pot. I didn’t really think that you’d- I don’t know what I was thinking.’

‘It’s all right,’ she said softly. ‘Everyone’s allowed to lose their head now and then. I’ve even done it myself, on rare occasions.’

The corners of his mouth quirked but there was no smile in his eyes. He looked as though he hadn’t slept and as though he wasn’t going to.

‘Sit down. Would you like a drink? There’s actually a decent amount of sherry for once.’ She saw his hesitation and continued, ‘I’m going to have one and it isn’t the done thing to allow a lady to drink alone.’

‘Well, when you put it like that.’

She poured the drinks, carried the glasses back over and instead of taking her place back in her favourite armchair, she sat beside him on the sofa.

Audrey took a sip of her sherry, watched him as he held his glass between his hands, febrile fingers tapping against the sides. ‘Are you going to tell me?’

‘I keep thinking about those workmen.’

She huffed out a breath. ‘Oh, that.’

‘Yes, that. You, my mother… I had no idea.’

‘Why should you? It isn’t your responsibility.’

_This isn’t something that you can fix._

He looked her full in the face. ‘I do understand, Audrey. I know what it’s like when you’ve lost someone-’

She sucked in a breath. ‘You don’t know.’

‘I do,’ he said, trying to make her understand.

Audrey put her glass down, took a breath, met his sympathetic gaze and held it. ‘No, Richard. You really don’t. I was lonely _in_ my marriage. Not after it. That was my fault as much as Marton’s – more probably.’

She had married a pile of brick and stone, four hundred years of tradition and heritage and a lifetime given to its service.

‘You loved your wife.’

‘Yes,’ he said, soft, ‘I did.’

‘I didn’t love my husband. I wish I could say that I’d even been fond, but I can’t. I’d hoped at least for a partnership, but…’ She shrugged. ‘It was the bargain I made and I was prepared to live with it.’ Audrey smiled then. ‘I told you you don’t know. And I’m glad you don’t. So you see, I don’t need pity.’

‘It isn’t pity, Audrey. But you deserve something better.’

She looked away from him ‘Maybe.’

He had gone about this all wrong, he thought. But he had wanted to- No, he had needed to see her and that need had overridden everything else. All the things he wanted to say to her but could never quite find the right words or the right time.

He drained his glass and Audrey reached out for it. ‘Another?’ Her blue eyes were soft. He looked at his watch.

‘I can’t. There’s a call I have to make. But thank you.’

‘Of course. You know you’re always welcome.’

One corner of his mouth curved upwards. ‘Funny, that’s what I’d come to tell you.’

She nodded. ‘Yes, you’ve told me that before.’

He was partly through the door to the terrace when he looked back at her. ‘Audrey. You don’t have to be lonely now.’

And then he was gone.

It was a few moments before Audrey crossed to the french windows; his figure had already been swallowed up by the night and she shivered against the frigid air.


	13. Cloudless Climes and Starry Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picks up from the end of ‘Tramps and Poachers’.

_13\. Cloudless Climes and Starry Skies_

 

‘How can you just let him go?’ Audrey demanded. ‘The man has robbed all of us! He’s still got my fifty pence!’

Not the largest amount that the man had swindled in the past week, but that didn’t mean it didn’t rankle.

‘How much time do you want to spend in court for him?’

She blinked at him. ‘Court?’

‘Yes,’ Richard replied blandly, eyeing Arthur Smith who was standing, attempting to look shame-faced, in Hawkins’ grasp. ‘Unfortunately, we can’t just shoot them these days.’

The gamekeeper made a small noise in his throat; the broken shot-gun was over his arm and everything about his demeanour suggested that he was willing to give the shooting a go.

‘Besides, that lot would sit rotting in the police station.’ He indicated the load of pheasants.

‘And what are you going to do with them?’

‘Sell them,’ he said simply.

‘Sell- You are unbelievable!’ Audrey stared at him, shaking her head. ‘Even now you’re thinking of a profit!’

Richard smiled. ‘Thank you.’

The man really was unbelievable, Audrey thought numbly. He took insults as compliments.

‘I said from the start you were as fine a gentleman as ever called the manor home,’ Smith began. ‘There’s no-’

‘I’d stop now, if I were you,’ Richard stated, his voice as silky as ever, but there was unmistakable steel in the tone. ‘You can take it from here, Hawkins?’

The gamekeeper smiled unpleasantly. ‘That I can.’ To Smith: ‘Get going.’

The last Audrey saw of them was a glimpse of Smith’s glum face, before Richard took hold of her hand again.

‘Come on, Audrey.’

She allowed herself to be pulled away.

‘How did you know it was him?’ she asked a few moments later, a little breathless.

‘I didn’t, but I had my suspicions. Anyway, it was you who put me onto it.’

‘Me?!’

His lips curved, dark eyes sparkling. ‘While you were so lyrical about the annual appearance of your garden flower.’

A noise like a growl answered him. ‘If you say that one more time-’

Richard laughed. ‘All right. But you did say that Smith came here at around the same time each year. Your records showed that the decline in pheasant stock always dipped at roughly the same time he showed up. So it wasn’t much of a stretch.’

‘I still can’t believe it,’ she said softly. She felt stupid for not having seen it. Guilty for having nagged Richard into taking the creature on. Yet more than anything she felt hurt. ‘Richard, can we slow down?’ She pulled on his arm.

‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry.’ He stopped, turned to face her and caught his breath lightly.

Audrey had always been very attractive – he had thought that from the start. Not what you would call a great beauty, perhaps, but her allure was undeniable. Yet, every now and then, and at the most unexpected times, she would suddenly flame into a beauty that would easily eclipse any supposedly prettier woman.

And such a time was now. With her face flushed and the night breeze blowing her hair about, she was exquisite. Alabaster skin in the moonlight and her eyes darkening to a sapphire hue.

Richard drank her in, every line, the way she raised a hand to brush the hair away from her face.

‘He took me for a complete fool,’ she said sadly.

‘Hm? Oh, yes…’ He tried to shake it off, concentrate on what she was saying. But her eyes; the curve of those lips… ‘Not just you. Me, the Brigadier.’ He paused. ‘Willoughby.’

Audrey laughed. ‘You really don’t like Willy, do you?’

‘The man really is the most complete bore.’

‘Well, yes,’ she admitted.

His eyes moved to the lights of the manor and his face darkened. ‘Oh… blast.’

‘What?’

‘I forgot, they’ll still be there.’ Steadily drinking their way through the brandy and anything else they could get their hands on. If they returned now they’d be stuck with the pair of them for the rest of the night. And he wondered what she’d say if he told her he didn’t feel like sharing her with anyone tonight. Or any night, for that matter.

‘You can tell them about Smith,’ Audrey said brightly. Her eyes wandered over his face. ‘Or you can hide in the lodge until they’re gone.’

He tilted his head back, regarding her with great dignity. ‘I’ll hide.’

She laughed then and they cut across the fields to the lodge. It was quiet and in darkness when they entered. Bertie wandered into the hall, snuffling around their feet in greeting and sniffing hopefully at pockets. When no biscuits were forthcoming, he pattered back into the sitting room.

‘I gave Brabinger the evening off,’ Audrey said as Richard slid her coat down her arms.

‘So, we’re alone at last.’

‘Mm.’

She ran a hand over her hair, smoothing it down. He watched her movements appreciatively. Her navy dress with its tight bodice and full skirt showed off her figure and maybe it was just the dress but he was sure there was more sway in her hips as she walked into the sitting room. He followed, watched her as she turned on the lamps, stoked the fire and then moved across to the drinks tray.

‘There’s even some scotch,’ she said, pouring it before he had time to reply.

‘Thank you.’

Then sitting in the armchair, ankles neatly crossed, every inch the lady. She had opted for the scotch as well and sipped it with every sign of enjoyment.

Richard had always preferred prose over poetry but there were a handful of verses that he liked and as he looked at her, fragments of one, that seemed very fitting, came back to him:

 _She walks in beauty, like the night_  
_Of cloudless climes and starry skies._  
_And all that’s best of dark and bright_  
_Meet in her aspect and her eyes._

Aware of the intensity of his gaze, Audrey kept her own lowered, concentrating on the liquid eddying in her glass. But she watched him from under her lashes and the way the firelight flickered, dancing across his features.

Richard cleared his throat and she looked at him fully, an air of expectancy.

‘Audrey… You’re looking very lovely tonight.’

Her cheeks flushed pale rose. ‘Thank you.’

He gazed at her helplessly. How on earth was he supposed to say anything to her when she looked like that? When she looked _at_ him like that.

The conundrum was solved when the front door rattled and a few moments later Brabinger entered, voicing apology before he was even fully in the room.

‘I didn’t realise you would be home so early, Madam.’

He fussed about them.

‘It’s quite all right, Brabinger,’ Audrey replied crisply, trying to keep the note of irritation out of her voice.

Why couldn’t the man have just stayed in the pub like a normal person? Richard thought, sending waves of such antipathy towards the old retainer that it was a wonder that Brabinger didn’t collapse on the spot. He sighed. ‘I should probably go.’

‘Oh.’ Audrey rose from the chair, swallowing the sudden disappointment.

‘With a bit of luck, they’ll have left by now. Otherwise I might have to pour them out of the door.’ Or kick them out, which felt a much more satisfying prospect.

She forced a smile in response to his levity, feeling the loss of the intimacy of only a few moments ago. They parted.

Out of earshot of the lodge, Richard muttered any number of epithets under his breath. But his journey home was sweetened by the memory of Audrey’s glorious eyes.

 


	14. The Hour of the Wolf: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picks up from the end of ‘The Honours List’

_14\. The Hour of the Wolf: Part One_

 

Now is this year.

Brabinger’s words kept echoing in her head and with them all of the possibilities that she had been holding at bay for so long. She hadn’t realised just how certain she had been, how expectant. And the disappointment had been almost more than she could bear.

And then Richard had been smiling at her again, holding out a glass of champagne, drinking to them and their future and she had felt it again, that flicker of certitude. The new year was always the chance for new beginnings; for Audrey, it had often been a renewal of what was already past, holding fast to her traditions and her rituals. But this year felt different; there was a clarity to it that felt unfamiliar and something even more unfamiliar: she was looking ahead, not just behind.

Richard’s influence, she thought: all that energetic optimism and embracing of the future. Enough to make her believe that she could do it, too.

Audrey had hoped for a very particular escort of the male persuasion to see her back to the lodge. But with some of the estate workers having taken a little too much advantage of the refreshments on offer, Richard had remained to help in the safe removal of some of the more boisterous element.

Regretfully, Audrey had walked back with Marjory, listening with only half an ear as her friend had chatted happily about the party, about their victory over the hedgerows, the Brigadier’s inclusion in the Honour’s List and any number of things that Audrey couldn’t find any real interest in.

It was a relief to deposit Marjory at her door and be left alone with her own thoughts. Very pleasant thoughts. She hardly felt the bite of the winter air against her cheeks. It was a cloudless night and she enjoyed the scent of cold, clean air; she stood for a moment, head tilted back and eyes closed, breathing it in and feeling its chill rush through her body.

At the lodge, Brabinger had left the lights on for her and Audrey checked on Bertie, blissfully asleep in his basket, before switching the lamps off and making her way up the stairs.

There was no light showing under Brabinger’s door and, aware of the lateness of the hour, Audrey stepped carefully over the creaky floorboard that lay directly outside of her room. Once inside, with the door shut and the lamps lit, she turned the radio on low, something sweet and soothing filling the air.

She had chosen the olive green dress again, remembering how much Richard had admired her in it at the Lord Lieutenant’s ball. And it was lovely, but with its long tight sleeves and high neck, not the easiest garment to get out of. Not on your own, at least. Performing a series of somewhat undignified contortions, Audrey grappled with the zip, and reflected that what was really needed was a gentleman ready to help with the unzipping. Someone who would not just be willing, but who would prefer his lady to be out of her dress than in it.

And she thought again about those strong, beautifully shaped hands and smiled to herself.

This year.

Audrey DeVere. She played with the name, saying it out loud, hearing the way the syllables hung together. Her whole life she had been Audrey fforbes-Hamilton, but Audrey DeVere…

The two names sounded well together.

Having grappled successfully with the zip, Audrey stepped out of the dress, careful not to damage the delicate fabric.

Of course, whether or not she would be Lady DeVere was another matter. Not that it mattered at all, really. Despite Marjory’s insistence that she had been currying favour with Sir Peter Allenshaw, just because he was a ‘Sir’. It was ridiculous and more than a little hurtful that her own best friend thought that of her. All she had done was smile at the man.

It had been Brabinger’s slip of the tongue that had started the whole thing anyway. And it was the second part of that title that was truly important. She would be Richard’s wife, they would be together at the manor-

And at that thought, Audrey laughed out loud. All through that evening, the shock of disappointment and then the sudden hope, she hadn’t really thought of Grantleigh at all. The thing that she was supposed to love, and want, more than anything else in the world.

Of course, everyone would think that that was why she was marrying him. But why should she care what anyone thought?

Audrey slipped on her robe, pulled the belt around her waist.

Except that Richard would think it, too. And why wouldn’t he? He knew perfectly well that she had married Marton to keep Grantleigh. That thing she loved and wanted more than anything.

It would always be there. Something between them that would ruin everything in the end. No matter what she said or did, he would never be quite sure that she had ever really wanted him at all. Even if he were prepared to take her on on those terms, she wasn’t.

They simply wouldn’t get married, then.

Satisfied, Audrey sat at her dressing table, started passing her hairbrush through her heavy dark-blonde locks.

And then what would people say?

That she would take everything she could get from him, but didn’t think him good enough to marry.

And what they would say about Richard would be even worse.

Amusing himself by keeping the former lady of the manor as his mistress, enjoying the estate while watching her squirm down at the lodge. Preying on her desperation to be back at her one-time home but still withholding it.

The talk would be unrelenting and vicious. It would break Mrs Poo’s heart. And hers. Perhaps he didn’t care what people thought, but no-one was impervious. Even if he didn’t care for himself, he would care for her sake, and his mother’s. And what was said about him would be far worse than what was said about her. If she wanted to protect him, if she wanted him to be happy, she would have to give him up.

Audrey stared into the mirror, not seeing her reflection.

So, this was love, she thought sombrely.

It certainly had all of the symptoms: giddiness, fluttering in the stomach, the desire to be near him, with him, the heightened joy when, unexpectedly, he would ring her up or drop by.

But with it came the things that she hadn’t known. The deep, profound ache; the caring for someone far more than for herself. Love had come, for the first time in her life.

If he didn’t have the manor-

Oh yes, she thought wearily, that would work. Give up the manor so that I can prove how much I love you.

It was his home. And he loved it, she knew he did. It wasn’t just his time and his money he had poured into it, it was himself. Why should he give it up?

Besides, he might not think her love was worth the price.

Audrey stood abruptly, crossed the room, turned the radio off, pulling the plug out of the socket. The music that had felt so fitting when she had entered was mocking her now. Her hands were shaking.

And then she was filled with a breathless rage. Why couldn’t he just have been the man she had thought he would be? Crass, vulgar, stupid, someone she could have gone on despising quite happily. But no. No, not Richard DeVere. He had to be clever and kind and patient. He had to be handsome and charming and funny and sweet. He had to make her fall in love with him.

And she had. And as long as Richard had the manor, she couldn’t have him.

Audrey sat down at the dressing table again. The stones really had got it wrong. Now was not this year. Nor was it next year.

Now was never.


	15. For the Man Who has Everything: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Audrey decides to repay Richard for the events of ‘Vive le Sport’.

_15\. For the Man Who has Everything: Part One_

 

Audrey stared at the plaster cast in disbelief, waiting for the pay-off, for the moment when he would reveal the joke and they would set off for their holiday. But his smile was rueful and it wasn’t a joke.

‘But- but how?’

Richard lowered his cast to the floor, wincing slightly. ‘Pride,’ he said, wryly, ‘going before a bloody great fall.’

Dismayed, Audrey’s shoulders sagged.

‘So, no Zermatt.’ No playing around in the snow, no intimate conversations in cosy aprés ski bars.

‘No, I’m afraid not. Pity, I was looking forward to it.’

‘Yes,’ she said softly.

All of the resolutions she had made for herself about him had dissipated with the promise of a few days alone, together, in the snowy alps. Neutral ground might offer some way out of the impasse, so she had told herself. The truth was, it probably wouldn’t. And while she had no doubt that Richard would never behave as anything other than a perfect gentleman, the idea that they could go away together simply as friends was laughable.

And now it had all come to nothing, a reminder – as though she needed another one – that she couldn’t have what she wanted.

‘Look, make yourself comfortable. I just have to finish with this lot’ -he brandished his sheaf of papers- ‘and I’ll be right with you. I can offer you dinner at the very least. Not out, I’m afraid.’

‘That doesn’t matter. Dinner would be lovely.’

Audrey perched on the edge of the sofa, placed her handbag and gloves neatly on a side table and noticed the sturdy cane leaning against it. She stole a glance around the room. No evidence of crutches, this was clearly his chosen method of support and it would be terribly difficult for him to get about without it.

His attention was on the paper in his hand, frowning at it.

Audrey carefully lowered the cane to the floor, nudged it with her toe until it rolled out of sight.

She busied herself with leafing through one of the books that was lying about, heard the scratch of a nib as things were amended and queried and signed and then heard the snap as the cap was put back onto his pen.

‘Right, that’s- Audrey! I haven’t even offered you a drink, I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s quite all right. I can’t hardly expect you to be dashing about playing host.’

‘It’s a broken ankle, not paralysis.’ He looked about, a frown building across his face.

‘Have you lost something?’ she asked lightly.

A huffed out breath. ‘I had a cane.’

‘Oh!’ Audrey stood, looked about. ‘I can’t see anything. What does it look like?’

He looked at her. ‘A cane.’

She smiled. ‘Well, never mind. It will turn up. Why don’t we get you to the sofa, and I’ll get the drinks?’

He regarded her uncertainly. ‘I-’

‘Come on. I’m willing to bet that I’ve had more experience with this sort of thing than you have.’

Richard’s eyes narrowed. ‘Just how many incapacitated men have you played nursemaid to?’

Audrey sucked in a breath, tilted her head back and regarded him severely. ‘I have first aid training with the Girl Guides.’

Well, she had once sat through one of Marjory’s demonstrations. She remembered most of it. Some of it. At least she had been in the same room as it.

‘Oh, I see,’ he said, amusement colouring his voice.

Never in her life had anyone laughed at her as much as he did. Strangely, she didn’t seem to mind.

Audrey put her arm around his waist, bracing her other hand against the wall of his chest to steady them both. After a moment’s hesitation, he put his arm around her shoulders.

The solidity of him came as a pleasurable shock, every time. Audrey had always been tall, frequently towering over her partners at assorted dances after her coming out and had certainly been the taller party in her marriage (in every sense). There were not many men who could make her feel dainty, but Richard DeVere was undoubtably one of them. It wasn’t just his height, it was his whole build. She had felt it when they had danced together, or those rare occasions when they had shared a chaste embrace; but now, with his weight pressing on her, she was more than ever aware of his physicality. He seemed to be made almost entirely of muscle, his body lean and hard.

They shuffled around until he could ease himself onto the sofa; Audrey located a footstool and carefully lifted the heavy cast onto it.

‘You’d make someone a wonderful nurse,’ he said and his reward was a dazzling smile that quite took his breath away.

‘It’s the least I can do after you made such a fuss of me. Drink?'

‘Thank you.’

Quite a remarkable recovery, he thought, watching her as she busied herself about the room. For a woman who had been, apparently, barely mobile only the day before, it was nothing short of miraculous.

If he hadn’t known better, he’d have suspected that she had been faking it. But she wouldn’t do that. Not Audrey.

Would she?

‘Perhaps I should try one of Marjory’s potions,’ he said.

‘Mmm.’ A vague noise that could mean anything.

‘Good for knitting bones back together, do you think?’

‘Possibly.’

Richard’s lips twitched. She really was unbelievable.

Drinks made, Audrey joined him on the sofa and handed him his glass. She raised her own. ‘Better luck next time?’

He grimaced. ‘I’d don’t know that there’ll be a next time.’

‘Oh, but you were coming along. It was an odd approach, I grant you, but with a little more practice-’ She broke off, eyes huge, and pressed her lips together.

Richard’s glass had been halfway to his lips and he froze; his head turned slowly and it would have been funny if he hadn’t looked quite so stricken.

‘What?’

‘I, uh…’

He sighed heavily. ‘You saw.’

‘Yes, I’m afraid I did. Oh, Richard, why didn’t you just say you couldn’t ski?’

He let out a breath of laughter, glanced at her without quite meeting her eyes. ‘You must think me a complete fool.’

‘No! I just don’t understand why you’d lie about it.’

There was silence. Then he placed his glass on the table, twisted around to face her fully. ‘All right. You were so full of admiration for your skiing instructor. I rather enjoyed your thinking about me in the same way.’ He shrugged. ‘Like I said, pride. Or vanity.’

Audrey smiled into her drink. ‘That’s really rather sweet.’

He studied her and then one corner of his mouth quirked into a smile.

‘You should try again, you know.’

Richard recovered his drink. ‘Oh, I don’t know.’

‘Nonsense,’ Audrey said firmly. ‘The best thing to do is give it another go.’

‘You said that about riding a horse.’

She beamed at him. ‘Exactly! Just think how much you enjoy riding now.’

He tilted his head. ‘Yes, well…’

‘But you need a proper instructor. I can teach you. It will be fun.’

‘Is that a proposition?’

She lowered her gaze, feeling her cheeks burn in the way that seemed to have become habitual since she had met him. ‘It’s a promise.’

Her eyes lighted on a pen lying on the coffee table and she snatched it up, leaned forward before she could really think about what she was doing and scrawled an IOU for skiing lessons across his cast. She signed it with a flourish.

‘There!’ Her eyes flashed, daring him to refuse her. ‘You’ll have to do it now.’

Leaning against the arm of the sofa, his hand propping up his cheek, he regarded her with that lazy amusement that made that strange twisting knot in her chest give an extra twist.

‘Yes. It looks like I will.’

It had been a bold move and Audrey retreated to the safety of her glass of sherry, feeling its burn across her lips. And couldn’t help the faint smile. This may not have been quite what she had had in mind; but, after all, the situation did have possibilities of its own.


	16. For the Man Who has Everything: Part Two

_16\. For the Man Who has Everything: Part Two_

 

Marjory’s reaction, after an initial misunderstanding, had been precisely as expected. Admittedly, it had also very nearly resulted in the second broken ankle in the Grantleigh area in as many days.

She had been bicycling past the lodge and had waved, unthinking, to Audrey. And then realised that Audrey was not supposed to be wrapping fleece around shrubs, but was supposed to be enjoying a hugely envied (and, in Marjory’s opinion, completely illicit and gained under false pretences) break in romantic surrounds with the heavenly Richard DeVere.

The surprise had caused an unfortunate collision with the boundary wall.

‘He found you out, didn’t he?’ Marjory said gleefully, hobbling into the lodge. ‘I bet he saw right through you and un-invited you.’

‘That isn’t a word,’ Audrey said, helping Marjory manoeuvre through the hallway in roughly the same manner she had aided Richard the day before, but with none of the vicarious thrills.

‘I bet he’s in Zermatt right now,’ Marjory continued, warming to her theme, ‘probably in the arms of some golden goddess. It would serve you right if he comes back married to some champion skier who’s also a model, like that girl who married that funny-looking American businessman. I want to say Donald Duck, but that can’t possibly be right.’

Audrey deposited her on the sofa with a distinct lack of ceremony. ‘You need to stay away from the Barbara Cartland. Anyway, Richard isn’t in Zermatt; he’s at the manor.’

‘What?!’

How long, feasibly, could she conceal what had actually happened? Not long at all, Audrey had to admit. It would probably be all around the village by lunchtime, anyway.

‘He’s broken his ankle.’

Marjory gasped, horror-struck. ‘Oh no! That’s terrible!’

‘It was entirely his own fault,’ Audrey said severely, seeing the maelstrom in Marjory’s head and trying to head off as many of her more outlandish schemes as possible.

‘I should go up there.’ Marjory moved to get up.

Audrey shoved her back down. ‘You can’t, you’re hurt. You need to keep the weight off that ankle. Here, put it up on this.’

‘That’s a log.’

‘Well, I don’t have a footstool.’ Audrey stood over her, hands on hips.

‘You know, you could be a bit more sympathetic, Aud.’

‘I’ve just allowed you to use me as a crutch!’ Audrey said, indignant.

‘I mean to Richard.’

‘Oh.’ Audrey pressed her lips together. ‘I was perfectly sympathetic. Not that he deserves it; it was sheer egotism that landed him in that mess and having you fluttering about him will only encourage him.’

‘I do not flutter about him! I don’t get the chance,’ Marjory finished with a mutter.

‘No, for Richard’s own good, he needs to be treated as though nothing at all has happened. Then he won’t feel the need to go about showing off.’ Audrey tried to make it sound as reasonable as possible.

Going by the somewhat mutinous expression on Marjory’s face, it was’t sounding at all reasonable to her.

 

****

 

It had been a frustrating day. Richard DeVere was not used to being impeded and suddenly finding that the most simple daily activity was rendered nearly impossible by the encumbrance attached to his leg was infuriating.

He could feel his temper fraying, which in itself made him feel worse.

So when the library door pushed open, he was fully prepared to take the head off whoever it was and then feel horrible about it afterwards. He was jolted out of the irritation, however, by the sight of Audrey and a large bouquet.

‘Hello!’

‘Can I come in?’

‘Of course.’ He started to push himself up from the sofa.

‘No, don’t! You can forget your manners this once.’

A breath of laughter. ‘Thanks.’

‘I thought you might need a bit of cheering up.’

‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Audrey.’ He wasn’t entirely sure how her showing off a large bunch of flowers from some admirer was supposed to make him feel better.

Audrey’s eyes were drawn to the cast and her face tightened. ‘Marjory’s been, I see,’ she stated flatly.

‘Ah, yes.’

What appeared to be an epic poem now adorned a considerable surface area of the plaster cast. She had probably spent simply hours sitting at his feet, Audrey thought sniffily. Honestly, some women had absolutely no pride whatsoever when it came to a man.

She was still clutching the bouquet and Richard eyed it dubiously.

Some chinless wonder had given the damn thing to her, no doubt, Richard thought grimly. A Hooray Henry with a sports car, a perfect lineage and approximately one brain cell thanks to inbreeding. Although, if the fellow had the sense to send flowers to Audrey, then that brain cell was worth more than its weight in gold. Which wasn’t saying much, really. Perhaps two brain cells had crashed into each other and generated a thought for him for the first time in his stupid, pointless, privileged life. And Richard knew he would probably end up regretting it but in the end he asked, ‘Who are the flowers from?’

‘From me,’ she said, holding them out.

Richard blinked. ‘I don’t quite understand.’

‘They’re for you,’ Audrey clarified, feeling a little awkward. It had seemed like a good idea, a sort of private joke after all of the flowers he had brought her. ‘From me.’

He stared at the bright blooms as though he still didn’t understand what she had said.

‘I know it’s not the usual thing for a woman to give a man, but-

There was something in his face that she had never seen before. Something that she couldn’t name but the longing to reach out and touch him, run her fingers down his cheek and say all of the things that she could feel rising up was almost overwhelming. The words pushed into her mouth and she clamped her teeth together, holding them in.

And then he took hold of her hand, his thumb rubbing against her skin.

‘They’re beautiful,’ he said, and his voice was soft as velvet. ‘Thank you. No-one’s ever given me flowers before.’

She swallowed hard. ‘Well, I’m glad you like them. They should probably go in some water.’

‘Yes.’ His fingers tightened around hers for a moment and then he let her go.

‘I’ll, uh, I’ll ring-’

‘Oh, no need.’ He smiled at her. ‘You haven’t seen my party trick yet.’

Locating the cane – mysteriously found under a chair, he told her – Richard held it out and used the tip to press the bell.

Audrey nodded her head thoughtfully. ‘Not bad. But I doubt it will have the talent agents coming.’

‘Perhaps not, but it’s been a long day. I have to take my amusement where I can find it.’

‘I can’t promise amusement, but I can offer company.’

‘Meals-on-Wheels, the OAP’s Club and me. You’ll have a full schedule.’ He had said it lightly but the words bit and he saw her face cloud, the spark that had been dancing in her eyes dim a little. He sighed, anger at himself spearing through. ‘I’m sorry, Audrey. It turns out I’m not a very good patient.’

‘It’s perfectly all right. I’ll get out of your way.’

‘You’re not- Audrey!’

She turned, stiff and unyielding.

With an effort, he pushed himself up from the sofa, grimacing against the pain from the too-fast movement.

‘I will hobble after you. All the way down to the lodge, if necessary, and it will be the slowest chase in history. I’ll probably break my other ankle and Marjory will will pen another ode to broken bones. I think she’s already managed to rhyme fibula with cinema, or possibly Caligula. Honestly, I’m too scared to look.’

Audrey laughed in spite of herself. ‘You are an idiot.’

‘Quite possibly.’

‘You really will say anything to worm your way out of trouble, won’t you?’

‘A tried and tested method. It doesn’t mean I’m not sincere.’ His eyes were warm and she was already drawn back to him, moving across to the sofa where he was still standing before she had even decided what to do.

A housemaid bobbed into the room, took the flowers and bobbed her way out again.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘if that offer of company is still open..?’

‘I suppose so,’ she replied, trying to inject a measure of coolness into her tone and not entirely succeeding.

He laughed. ‘Audrey, you’re a paragon.’

‘Thank you,’ she said modestly, and then frowned. ‘Of what?’

‘Come on,’ he said, making a move towards the door. He was surprisingly fast on that cane, she thought. Although, it came as no real surprise: she had no doubt that Richard had ever had much trouble finding his way around anything before too long.

‘Where are we going?’

‘The Tea room.’

‘Why?’ She trotted after him.

‘Why not?’

Which was, she supposed, as good a reason as any.

They spent a happy hour in the middle of the china collection, the golden glow of the room enhanced by the low-lighting and the shutters closed against the dreary greyness beyond the windows. It was like being cocooned and Audrey indulged herself in opening cabinets and lovingly caressing the precious objects within. Richard derived as much pleasure from her appreciation of the collection as he did the items themselves.

There were some new items to admire and one in particular was irresistible. The infamous Egyptian pot no longer sat in splendid isolation: there was a necklace in carnelian, turquoise and lapis that was exquisite in its delicacy and rich shades but it was the second object that made her catch her breath.

‘That’s- It can’t be. Is that what I think it is?’

‘That depends on what you think it is.’ There was a challenge in his eyes, along with the usual sparkle.

Audrey hesitated. ‘It is, isn’t it? A Cheops of the Fourth Dynasty.’

‘Yes, it is. Bring it over.’

She didn’t want to think about how much it was worth, this sacred scarab lying in the palm of her hand. With great care, she carried it back to the table, and they sat, heads together, both in rapt admiration of this tiny object that had survived millennia.

‘You still don’t have locks on those cabinets. Aren’t you afraid someone might steal something?’

He smiled at her. ‘Apart from Marjory, you mean.’ She gave him an admonishing look. He shrugged lightly. ‘I don’t want to live in a museum. Things should be enjoyed, not just locked away. Anyway, didn’t you grow up using antiques as everyday objects?’

‘Yes, some things. But they weren’t this old.’

‘I think when it gets this old you call it ancient.’

‘What’s the difference?’

‘Sounds more respectable.’

Audrey raised her eyebrows, tilting her head to consider him. ‘I didn’t think you cared about respectability.’

‘I don’t. But I do share the house with a very ancient object and I respect her very much.’ He raised his voice. ‘You can come in now, Mother.’

The door had been standing ajar, and as Audrey turned her head, Maria Polouvicka entered, her head held high.

‘I heard what you said about your own mother,’ she said, wagging a finger at her son.

‘That will teach you not to eavesdrop,’ he replied, unrepentant.

Maria sucked in a breath that seemed to go all the way down to her toes. ‘I was not eavesdropping. I just came to see if you two had finished playing. It’s time for your dinner.’

Richard and Audrey exchanged glances and she bit back laughter as he rolled his eyes expressively. ‘She’ll be asking if we’ve washed our hands next,’ he murmured, pushing back his chair.

‘Can you manage?’ Audrey asked, concern written across her face as he grappled with his cane.

‘I’m fine.’ He was upright, pausing for a moment while he got his balance. ‘No-one hid it under a chair today.’

Audrey felt the points of colour leap into her cheeks. ‘Is that an accusation?’

‘Heaven forbid.’ He offered her his arm. ‘Anyway, I rather enjoyed your playing nursemaid.’

Audrey narrowed her eyes at him and then relented; she slid her arm through his and with Maria leading the way, they slowly proceeded out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A ‘Cheops of the Fourth Dynasty’ is a reference to P.G. Wodehouse’s first Blandings novel, ‘Something Fresh’; the Cheops being the MacGuffin that sets the plot in motion.


	17. For the Man Who has Everything: Part Three

  
_17\. For the Man Who has Everything: Part Three_

 

Maria Polouvicka had one eye on her knitting and another, very beady, eye on her son. He had ensconced himself in the window seat and was alternately looking in a book and then out of the window. With binoculars.

If he had a hobby that didn’t involve him throwing himself down a mountain and breaking half the bones in his body, then so be it. She would thank the Virgin and all the saints for answering her prayers. But he had been doing whatever it was he was doing since Marjory Frobisher had been by for her latest visit, and that was the problem.

It wasn’t that she disliked Marjory. She was a perfectly pleasant woman. She wasn’t unattractive. But she wasn’t the right woman for Richard.

Men, however, didn’t always know what was best for them, and while Maria had a high opinion of her son’s common sense and good taste, there was a lurking worry that Marjory’s submissive adoration might just turn his head.

The English, after all, were a strange race. And Bedrich had been here so long, he was one of them.

It would be a disaster if they married, of course. He’d be bored with her soon enough, but too kind and too much of a gentleman to back out of it. He needed a woman with a mind of her own, someone who would stand up to him and rein him in when he got too carried away with his schemes. Anna had always been very good at that, and Maria thought of her late daughter-in-law with a wave of affection. And then sighed. That was all in the past. It was the future that mattered, she had learned that long ago. And his future was Audrey, she was certain of it.

‘What are you up to?’

Richard’s voice cut into her thoughts and she started. He was still staring out of the window. ‘Me? I’m not up to anything, I’m just sitting here.’

‘Sitting there scheming. It’s the knitting needles that give you away: the faster you think, the slower you knit.’

She tutted, her needles clicking furiously. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Richard eased himself up from his seat. ‘You know, Marjory was right – it’s astonishing how many birds are around during winter. I’d never noticed before. Some of them stay here until spring; it’s so cold where they started from, this gloom feels warm to them.’

He seemed very cheerful and for that she was glad; she would have been even more glad if the source of his good mood lay elsewhere. ‘You really enjoy that?’ She was sceptical.

‘Yes, I do.’ He sounded faintly surprised himself. And then, without warning, repeatedly slapped his cast.

‘Richard!’

‘Sorry. It’s an itch. It’s driving me crazy.’

‘Ah, my poor boy!’ She glanced at the clock and stood up. ‘I will get you some herbal tea.’

‘For an itch?’

‘It … will … take your mind off it.’

He stared at her for a moment. ‘Well, if it tastes as bad as the rest of them, you’re probably right.’

Maria slipped out and hurried, not down to the kitchen, but towards the hallway, and was just in time to see the expected figure entering through the main doors. Always so punctual, Maria thought approvingly.

‘Audrey!’ It was a whisper so loud it echoed around the vast space.

The younger woman smiled up at her, mounting the stairs and exchanging the embrace and kisses-on-cheeks that had become their regular greeting. ‘Hello, Mrs Poo. How’s the patient today?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, he has spent hours on his new hobby.’

‘Oh? What is it this time, hang-gliding?’

‘Worse. He is watching birds. Marjory was here for hours going through this bird and that bird and now all he does is stare out of the window.’ She watched Audrey closely, noted with satisfaction the tightening around her lips and the added flash in her blue eyes.

‘I see.’

‘Now,’ Maria said, tucking Audrey’s hand into the crook of her arm, ‘I want to talk to you…’

  
****

One more week, Richard thought grimly. One more blasted week and then, finally, normality. No more shuffling about. No more having to rely on people to do things for him that he was, ordinarily, quite capable of doing for himself. Dignity, finally, restored.

Although, there had been some upsides to the situation. Audrey’s daily visits had been the bright spots of his days, lately. He found himself looking at the clock with impatience, almost resentful of any work that would delay him. And the fact that it took at least twice as long to get from one place to another did not help.

Marjory’s visits were also quite enjoyable, in their way. She really did have quite a remarkable knowledge of wildlife and he found himself appreciating it more as he learned about it. Quite fascinating, really. And Marjory was an enthusiastic and patient teacher.

He did, however, get the impression that there was a certain one-upmanship (upwomanship?) occurring between the two over their visits. Richard had made the diplomatic decision to stay out of it and let them settle it for themselves.

Of course, Marjory’s efforts were somewhat impeded by the conspicuous presence of his mother at each and every one of her visits. Maria’s absence was equally conspicuous whenever Audrey was there.

He had also decided to let them all work that one out for themselves, too.

Making his way from his study to the main part of the house, Richard passed a dark-suited figure in the corridor.

‘Hello, Brabinger.’

‘Good-evening, sir.’

Richard stopped, thought, turned slowly. No, he had been right. That really was Brabinger, Audrey’s butler, apparently buttling away here at Grantleigh.

‘Er, Brabinger.’

The man turned, smiling beatifically as though there was nothing unusual in the situation. ‘Sir?’

‘I hope that this isn’t an intrusive question, but what are you doing here?’

‘I am helping Madam, sir.’

‘I see. Which “madam”, exactly?’

‘Mrs fforbes-Hamilton. And also Mrs Polouvicka.’

Richard nodded slowly. ‘Yes, that’s what I was afraid of.’ He paused. Brabinger stood, hands behind his back, with an air of patient expectation. ‘Again, not wanting to intrude, but what have you been helping them with?’

‘I believe it to be something in the nature of a surprise, sir.’

‘Oh God.’

Brabinger smiled encouragingly. ‘If I may say, sir, l think it a rather pleasant surprise.’

Richard raised his eyebrows. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘So, you know what..?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I don’t suppose you would-’

‘No, sir.’

‘No?’

‘No, sir.’ Firmly.

Richard sighed. ‘Yes, that’s what I thought.’ He straightened. ’All right, Brabinger, where do I go to meet my fate?’

‘The drawing room, sir.’

Richard turned and then stopped. ‘Brabinger.’

‘Sir?’

‘I don’t suppose there’s room for a butler’s pantry at the lodge?’

The butler sighed. ‘There is not, sir. I must confess to missing the one I had here.’

‘Yes, I, uh, I can understand that. But you have a … cubby-hole?’

‘I do, sir. In my room.’

‘And you would be partial to a drop of a decent port from time to time?’

‘It has been known, sir,’ Brabinger replied cautiously.

‘I had a feeling it might. A crate of the stuff has just arrived from Berry and Rudd.’ Richard started towards the drawing room. ‘Help yourself to a bottle. For your cubby-hole.’

Brabinger smiled at the retreating figure. It was a rare pleasure, he thought, to meet a gentleman who wore his wealth with such graciousness and generosity. There was no ‘side’ to Mr DeVere, as Brabinger’s mother would have said. It was a relief to think that Mrs fforbes-Hamilton’s future was in such capable and caring hands.

Once they worked themselves out, that was.

  
****

Richard took a breath outside of the drawing room door. ‘Once more unto the breach,’ he murmured, and pushed the door open.

It was dimly lit. A cheerful fire and many, many candles. There was music. There was a table set for two, what appeared to be items of skiing equipment lying about and Audrey, wearing the sort of sweater that you might see at an-

‘Aprés-ski,’ Audrey said, with a smile that looked as close to nervous as he had ever seen. ‘As we never made it to Zermatt.’

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t this. ‘Audrey…’

It was one of her nights to flame into beauty again; the firelight playing across her face, her eyes luminous and her smile inviting. ‘If the lodge could pretend to be Spain for a week, there’s no reason why the manor can’t be Switzerland for one night.’

Richard laughed. ‘Complete with Brabinger’s niece.’

‘Great-niece,’ Audrey corrected.

‘Beautiful great-niece.’

Her smile widened. And then she turned her attention to the table, which seemed to have enough food to feed most of the estate workers. ‘We have apple strudel, courtesy of Mrs Poo. Fondue, bread, cheese, sausage. We even have schnapps.’ She studied his face and couldn’t tell what he was thinking. ‘Is it very silly?’

‘Extremely silly. I love it.’

And that was followed by another thought. But that would keep for now, he decided. It would keep.

  
****

She had had high hopes for the evening. Maria had not quite understood Audrey’s idea of turning the drawing room into a ski lodge, but from some of her comments had gathered that it was a joke that Richard would understand.

This was good, she reasoned. If they had private jokes, it meant that they were comfortable with each other, that there was an intimacy that they didn’t have with anyone else.

It had been late when Audrey left. Not that she had been listening for any sounds with the door of her sitting-room ajar and one eye on the windows that overlooked the lodge. (She had, at times, even considered acquiring a pair of field-glasses, just so that she could get a sense of Audrey’s life and interests, information that she could feed back to Bedrich. But his disapproval, if he found out, would be terrible.)

Burning with curiosity, and on the pretext of locating the ball of wool that she decided she had left in the drawing room, Maria hurried down.

The candles had all but burnt out and the fire had banked down. Richard was sitting on the sofa and he displayed no surprise at all at seeing her. ‘I thought you’d be lurking,’ he said.

She sniffed. ‘I am looking for my ball.’

‘I’d say you had plenty already.’

Her eyes narrowed. And the she noticed the slender package he was turning over in his hands. ‘What is that?’

‘Audrey gave it to me.’

‘What is it?’

‘I think it’s a book. She said something about my probably having read everything we have in the library.’

‘Well, open it!’

He looked at her reprovingly. ‘You have no restraint whatsoever.’

‘Gifts are meant to be opened! Or what is the point of them?’

Honestly, he couldn’t argue with that. Richard peeled back the wrapping, more slowly than he would have ordinarily but his mother’s impatience was simply crying out to be teased.

It was, indeed, a book. A slim volume, very worn. Maria’s shoulders sagged and she looked at her son accusingly. ‘An old book. You have done something to upset her! What did you do?’

‘I didn’t do anything!’ Richard sat forward, holding the slightly tattered book in the light to make out the title. _The House at Pooh Corner_. Slowly, he opened the cover. The first page was inscribed with the original owner’s name, written in a faded but painstaking, childish, hand. Property of Audrey fforbes-Hamilton. Below it was a newer dedication.

‘To Bedivere,’ Maria read over his shoulder and raised her hands in a gesture of bewilderment. ‘And who is Bedivere?’

There was a long silence and Maria watched him curiously, the way he was sitting so still and staring at those strange words. ‘I think I am,’ he said eventually.

And then he stood up, still awkward in his movements. ‘Come on, Mother. Time for bed.’

‘But what about Audrey?’ she demanded.

He smiled then, something slow and soft. He had the book tucked under his arm, holding it as though it were the most precious thing in he world. ‘Yes. What about her.’


	18. Next Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We’re into series three, with a very short coda for ‘The Scout Hut’.

_18\. Next Time_

 

Brabinger opened the lodge door and saw a large bunch of flowers before he saw anything else.

‘I see that you have remembered Madam’s favourite flowers, sir,’ he said approvingly.

‘Yes,’ said Richard. ‘That’s because sir wrote it down after the last time you told him.’

The butler permitted himself a small smile and stood aside to allow Richard entry.

‘Is she in?’

‘You will find her in the sitting room, sir.’

‘Hm. What’s the temperature like in there?’

‘Moderate to good. I believe that Madam was vastly entertained by this afternoon’s excursion.’

‘She certainly was,’ Richard replied, remembering the gales of laughter, his own soaking and the complete lack of sympathy.  
Marjory, by contrast, had been all sympathy. Naturally. Why was it, he wondered and not for the first time, that rather than a sweet, conciliatory woman like Marjory, he would sooner have someone like Audrey.

In the right mood, however, Audrey could be the kindest, loveliest woman in the world. It was just something of a challenge to get her there and Richard DeVere was yet to meet a challenge that he didn’t like.

He took a breath, got a firmer grip on his bouquet and cautiously opened the door.

‘Audrey? Brabinger let me in.’

Audrey lowered her newspaper. ‘Ah! If it isn’t Jacques Cousteau!’

Her eyes dancing, she really was enjoying this far too much. Damn the woman.

‘I suppose I had that coming.’

‘You certainly did.’

‘By way of apology.’ He presented the flowers to her.

Audrey moved towards them slightly, instinctively, and then sat back again. ‘If I take them, when can I expect that little man to come and collect them?’

‘Audrey…’

‘Well, I can’t be too sure, apparently. Never mind beware Greeks bearing gifts; with you about it should be beware Czechs!’

He sighed. ‘Audrey.’

She looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. ‘Don’t think you can get around me that easily. Even if they are peonies.’ And in her favourite shade, too. The scent was sweet and heady, already filling the air. Damn the man. He was getting far too used to getting his own way with her and it had to stop. This time, she would not waiver.

‘Audrey.’ Her name always sounded softer when he said it, lilting somehow. How did he make it sound like that? He crouched down beside her chair, eyes on level with hers.

‘I am sorry. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world. I know it probably seemed like I was being cheap, but… You’d talked about the ideal picnic by the river and when they showed me the advertising spread, it was all right there and I thought “why not?” It seemed like a good idea.’ His eyes wandered over her face. ‘I just wanted to spend some time with you. We never seem to get the chance.’

‘Yes, well…’ Audrey lowered her eyes, found a loose thread on her skirt and picked at it. ‘It was magical,’ she admitted. ‘I only wished it had been magical just for me.’

‘I know.’

She looked at him. ‘And not all the readers of a Sunday supplement.’

‘I know.’ He held her gaze.

Audrey let out a breath. ‘I suppose I should put these in water.’ She took the flowers and couldn’t resist burying her face in the soft, scented blooms. ‘They’re beautiful. Thank you.’

‘They’re no less than you deserve. And I promise that next time it will be just for you.’

‘Next time?’

His dark eyes sparkled. ‘There’s always a next time.’

 


	19. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up from the end of ‘Station Closing’.

_19 Changes_

 

 

Richard let himself into the study and flicked the light on.

‘So!’

He started violently. ‘Good God, Audrey! What on earth are you doing here? And in the dark?’

‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

‘In the dark?’

‘It wasn’t dark when I got here. I’ve been waiting a very long time.’ Her fingers had been drumming impatiently on the arm of the chair for what felt like eternity. She jumped up now, hands on her hips and ready for the next round of their seemingly unending battle.

‘I suppose you’re pleased with yourself.’ She regarded him with an eye of such heat that a weaker man would have slunk away to repair the burn damage.

Richard DeVere was not such a man.

‘I am, rather,’ he agreed cheerfully. ‘I never got to play with trains as a child. Not quite the train-driver dream come true, but close enough. Would you like a drink?’

‘I would not.’ It was delivered with a snarl.

He shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’

Audrey watched him and thought about the circles of hell that were reserved for people like him. ‘How could you? How could you do this?’

‘It was quite simple, really. I just rang up the railway.’

‘I meant about the school!’ Her voice raised to a pitch that would have made the windows rattle, had the mortar not been recently replaced.

‘Oh, that.’

‘Yes, that. It’s the heart of the community, the lifeblood of the village.’

‘I thought the station was the heart of the community,’ Richard said, placidly. Leaning against his desk, one hand in his pocket while he sipped his whisky, he seemed wholly unconcerned with the fury being deposited on his head.

‘That’s beside the point,’ Audrey said, refusing to be side-tracked. ‘They are equally important. And you’re determined to shut everything down.’

‘Audrey, I am not shutting anything down. The Department Of Education is doing that, and sooner rather than later what with the asbestos.’

Thrown off, Audrey blinked. ‘The what?’

‘Asbestos.’ Richard put down his glass, opened his briefcase, took out a file and handed it to her. ‘Also lead in the piping, dry rot and rising damp. It’s a wonder no-one has been killed yet. The place is a death-trap; honestly, the best thing anyone could do is knock the whole thing down and start again from scratch. But the building itself is quite attractive, so we’ll keep the shell and gut the interior.’

Audrey was staring at the pages in the file he had given her, shaking her head. ‘But this is outrageous! Our school allowed to descend into this state…’ Her eyes flashed again. Boudicca had nothing on her. The Romans wouldn’t have stood a chance, he thought.

‘The decision’s already been made. The school is closing next week.’

‘Next week?!’

‘Asbestos, lead, dry rot…’

Her head tossed. ‘And where are the children supposed to go? It is still term time.’

‘Only for a few weeks. Anyway, they’re coming here.’

‘Here?’ She was quiet for a moment, looking at him. ‘To Grantleigh?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re having an entire school’s worth of children trampling all through the manor.’

He laughed slightly. ‘One part of it, and it is only for a few weeks – until the end of the term.’

Her lips pressed together and he could see the struggle.

‘We shall fight this. If it can be refurbished to be a supermarket, it can be refurbished to stay a school.’

Richard rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes for a moment. ‘It’s like arguing with King Canute.’

Her eyes blazed. ‘What?’

‘Audrey,’ he tried to keep his tone reasonable, ‘even if you can get the school to stay open, the station will then close.’

‘But-’

‘No! It’s one or the other. You can’t have everything.’

‘But you can, of course!’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘We have to give up our heritage, our traditions, while you bulldoze your way over everything! When have you ever had to give up something? When have you ever lost _anything_?’

Audrey pulled in her breath as though that would take the words back. But it wouldn’t and it was too late and his face…

She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, coldness spreading across her cheeks. In all the time she had known him, for all the things she had said about him and even worse things to him, he had never felt as far away from her as at this moment.

‘I should go,’ she said.

‘Yes, you probably should.’

He moved across to the window, staring out into the darkness and he didn’t look at her as she walked away.

Audrey made it as far as the corridor outside of his study and then sank into one of the chairs. It was a stiff-backed thing, more for decoration than comfort, but its hard angles suited her mood. She buried her face in her hands and that was how Richard found her some twenty minutes later.

‘Audrey?’

She seemed to flinch at the sound of his voice, her head raising slightly to look at him. There was no anger in his face. If anything, he appeared concerned and that, somehow, made her feel worse.

‘I thought you’d gone.’

‘I was on my way out.’ Her voice was muffled. She lowered her hands, straightened her spine and made herself meet his steady gaze. ‘Richard, I am so sorry.’

He sighed, and sat in the chair opposite hers. ‘I’m sorry, too.’ He studied her for a moment. All of the energy she expended on defending things even as they crumbled about her ears. It must be exhausting. ‘As far as I understand it,’ he said, ‘the new school will be very beneficial for the farm children.’

‘They go to the village school,’ Audrey responded automatically, but calmer now.

‘From the estate farms, yes. But not the outlying farms. Those children have to get up at God knows what hour to go to the school in Taunton. It must put quite a strain on the families. This way, they’ll be at a school closer to home and actually mix with the village children. And as for the supermarket…’ Richard saw the tension in her shoulders, the way she seemed to be bracing herself against his words. ‘It will bring jobs to the village. Not a huge number, but some. At least it will give more local people more reasons to stay in their homes. These are good things, Audrey, I promise you.’

She nodded, not really looking at him.

‘I just wish you didn’t find it so frightening.’

‘What?’ She was wary.

‘Change.’

Her eyes lowered again, staring at her hands. ‘I don’t know how you don’t.’

Richard sat back in his chair. ‘I suppose because change, for me, has always meant survival. If my parents hadn’t made a change and come here, we probably would have ended up like the rest of the family.’ In response to her silent question he nodded. ‘As far as I know. It’s always been difficult to find a lot of accurate information, and in the end my mother didn’t really want to know too many details.’ He paused. ‘If I hadn’t tried different things, my life as it is wouldn’t have been possible. Change can be very exciting.’

‘But there are things worth preserving,’ Audrey stated, some of her fire sparking again.

‘I agree. But not everything. If nothing ever changes, then everything … stifles … in the end. And then there’s nothing left that’s worth saving.’

Audrey took a breath that shook through her chest. The words, when they came, seemed to cost her an effort. ‘I don’t think I can tell the difference.’

‘I wouldn’t say that.’ He sat forward again, gently took one of her hands in his. ‘I think between the two of us we do a pretty good job of working it out. Audrey…’

Not now, she thought desperately, don’t ask me now. Not when her defences were so low and she could feel the tide rising around her. It would be so easy to let it just sweep her away.

‘I really should go,’ Audrey said and stood, pulling her hand from his. ‘It’s getting late.’

‘Oh. But- You don’t have to go.’

Audrey ran a hand through her hair. ‘I promised Marjory… I’m already terribly late.’

‘I see.’ She had already turned away from him. ‘Audrey… We are all right, aren’t we?’

Audrey looked back and managed to pull up a smile. ‘Yes, of course we are.’


	20. The Gentleman Caller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after ‘Horses vs Cars’.

_20\. The Gentleman Caller_

 

With the church hall undergoing refurbishment (courtesy of an anonymous donor; which everyone knew perfectly well meant it was Richard) the parish council meetings were held at rotating venues. This week was Audrey’s turn and she had wrestled with her conscience over the sherry. It should be offered, of course. But there was so little of it.

Salvation had arrived along with her first guest. The lord of the manor came bearing gifts.

‘It’s a donation to the parish,’ Richard said, placing a bottle of sherry onto her drinks tray.

‘Am I supposed to cart it to every meeting from now on?’

He shrugged. ‘You’re a parishioner. As far as I’m concerned you can do what you like with it.’

They shared a complicit smile.

Richard, she had come to realise, was essentially a care-taker at heart. He saw a problem and wanted to fix it. Things, places, people… Even when she didn’t agree with how he wanted to fix things, she couldn’t fault his instincts or generosity of spirit. And it would be so much easier – and far more pleasant – to just let him do what he so clearly wanted to and look after her. And she would give him all of her love in return.

But that same problem still remained. The manor.

Audrey turned her thoughts from it. They had had a prolonged period of relative peace, with even the sound of Richard’s helicopter becoming part of the rhythm of her world. The blades cutting the air meant weekend lunches and dinners. And as summer entered its hazy phase of long days and balmy evenings, she reflected on it as having been a good season. That year’s Summer Hunt Ball had been declared one of the most successful on record and had passed without incident, steel bands, or anyone falling into the stream.

Despite all this, she was aware of an undercurrent of melancholy. They couldn’t go on like this, she knew that. If she explained the situation, the huge reason why, he would do what he always did: laugh at her, make a joke of it, offer a solution that seemed perfectly simple to him and absolutely impossible to her. And without an explanation… Sooner or later he would tire of waiting for her and he would find someone else. God knows, there must be any number of women – not just Marjory Frobisher – desperate to throw themselves into the arms of this kind, generous, wonderful man.

The man who had opted to stay behind after the others had left and help her tidy up, in Brabinger’s absence.

Richard had undeniable virtues – but he was also perfectly capable of taking advantage of a situation for his own ends. Audrey observed him as he collected the various cups and glasses dotted around the room. ‘I do appreciate the help,’ she said, ‘but is it altruism, or are you just trying to avoid the rector?’

Richard grimaced, balancing a small tower of crockery and glassware (it was truly astonishing how so few people could generate so much washing-up). ‘He can be rather … effusive.’

Putting it politely, Audrey thought. ‘He does think very highly of you.’

‘Yes, and even more highly of my wallet.’

‘Richard!’

‘It’s not that I mind,’ he said. ‘I’m more than happy to contribute. He’s just so … grateful.’

‘Yes,’ Audrey replied solemnly, ‘that is terrible of him.’

He shot her a look of reproach. ‘You know what I mean.’

She laughed then. He did have a point. The rector was a good man and there was no doubt that his intentions were always the purest. But there were times when-

‘Uriah Heep,’ Richard said.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘That’s who he reminds me of sometimes. You know, that fellow in Dickens – ever so humble.’

‘Richard, really!’

He grinned at her and took his pile into the kitchen. Audrey set about brushing crumbs off the side tables; rather like the amount of used glassware and crockery, she marvelled at the proliferation of crumbs made by so few in such a short space of time. She heard Richard re-enter and when she looked up, he was standing at the french windows, looking across at the manor.

‘Is everything all right?’ Audrey asked lightly, against a sudden sense of unease.

Richard let out a breath of laughter and turned, embarrassed. ‘Yes… Yes, it’s just- Well… Mother’s been out.’

Audrey felt the tension across her shoulders ease. ‘Is that unusual?’

‘Not at all: she seems to live entirely for pleasure these days. No, she’s been out with someone from the OAP club.’

‘Oh?’ Audrey frowned. ‘I didn’t know they had an outing today.’

‘They don’t: this is one that she arranged for herself. With a fellow called Ferdynand Wiśniewski.’

Audrey wasn’t sure if Richard could actually speak either of the languages of his parents, but he could certainly pronounce the names. He made those seemingly impenetrable combinations of vowels and consonants sound musical.

‘Ferdy? He’s terribly sweet. He was a Polish Airforce officer during the war.’

‘Yes, I know. He does seem very nice. But still…’

‘It’s your mother.’

He nodded. ‘Yes. They’ve been seeing quite a lot of each other ever since that day at the seaside.’

‘You mean he’s her gentleman caller.’ Her lips twitched.

Richard regarded her sourly. ‘We’re not in Tennessee Williams territory yet.’

‘No,’ she agreed, ‘as long as no-one starts buying glass ornaments, you’re safe.’

‘That is not helpful,’ he said cuttingly, and Audrey laughed. ‘They should be back by now.’ His eyes landed on the pair of binoculars. ‘Do you mind if I borrow these? Thanks.’

Audrey watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as Richard took up a stance at the windows that was unsettling in its familiarity. To an observer, it looked like-

Well, exactly what it was: someone spying on someone else from a distance. With binoculars.

Audrey attacked the sofa cushions, fluffing them furiously.

‘Ah! They’re back. Oh.’

‘What is it?’ Audrey asked, curious in spite of herself.

‘They’re holding hands.’

She bit back a smile. ‘That’s quite sweet.’

‘I suppose so… Good heavens!’

‘Now what?’

Richard lowered the binoculars and looked at them, appalled. ‘You can see straight into the manor from here with these!’

‘Nonsense!’

Richard took another look. ‘No, you really can.’

He lowered them, slowly this time, a hideous thought taking hold. ‘Audrey…’

He met her gaze. She had taken up a combative stance in the middle of the room. ‘What?’

‘Audrey, you haven’t-’

Her eyes widened, indignant. ‘Are you seriously accusing me of spying on you?’

‘No! No, of course not.’ But he glanced back at the manor uncertainly and a series of half-remembered comments that would really only make sense if she _had_ skittered through his mind. ‘Audrey…’

She had vanished. He heard cups rattling in the kitchen and started after her. ‘Audrey? Audrey!’


	21. A Taste of Honey: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing sequence from one of my favourite episodes, ‘Birds vs Bees’. After all, they do have six hours to fill...

_21\. A Taste of Honey: Part One_

 

Audrey brought the Range Rover to a halt next to the makeshift hide. It was the first of the newer models she had driven (Richard being Richard it was, of course, the very latest model) and she had to admit that the handling was superb. She swung her feet out, slammed the door shut, had taken only a few steps when something tightened around her ankle and she was pulled to the ground. Her cry was answered by a low bellow and a high-pitched screech, and then a flashlight shone in her eyes.

‘ ‘Oo goes there?’

‘Ned, what on earth are you doing?’ she yelled back.

‘Is that you, Mrs fforbes?’

Ned, from what she could make out beyond the glare of the torch, was holding a shotgun and pointing it at her. ‘Of course it’s me! Where’s Marjory?’

‘I’m here. Sorry, Aud. We set some booby traps.’

‘Obviously.’ Audrey struggled valiantly, then gave in. It was pointless. ‘If one of you doesn’t get me out of this thing, I shall start screaming.’

‘Oh, gosh…’

Once released from the snare, Audrey stood, pointedly brushing the mud off her clothes while glaring in Marjory’s direction. And then frowned. As torch beams moved about, her friend’s face was occasionally illuminated and Audrey couldn’t help but notice that there was something … odd … about her appearance.

‘Marjory.’

‘Yes? Oh!’ Marjory put up a hand against the sudden beam of light directed at her face.

Audrey closed her eyes for a moment and then asked: ‘Marjory, is that camouflage paint on your face?’

‘No!’ Guilt crept across her paint-smeared features. ‘Yes. It’s mascara, actually.’

‘Never mind twitchers, you look like you’re after the Viet Cong.’

‘It’s been a very long night,’ Marjory said, an edge of hysteria in her voice. She took a breath and continued more calmly: ‘It’s not like we can all share the hide with Richard for six hours.’

Audrey rolled her eyes. ‘That was the luck of the draw! You had as much of a chance as I did.’

‘No, I didn’t! Those slips of paper were all the same!’

Audrey stared at her. In the unforgiving glare of the torchlight, and with the black streaks across her face, Marjory suddenly seemed like the emissary from hellish realm. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘The Brigadier set you up! He knew you’d never join the watch without good reason, so he wrote “midnight to six a.m.” on one lot of slips and “Richard DeVere” on the others. And, of course, here you are.’ She paused, frowned, stared into the darkness beyond Audrey’s head and then back at her friend. ‘Where is Richard, anyway?’

‘He… He has some business to finish up,’ Audrey said weakly. She had thought she had been so careful, had hidden it so well. But if even the Brigadier knew…

‘Oh.’ Marjory looked disappointed, but cheered almost instantly. ‘Do you want me to stay until he arrives?’

For a moment, Audrey considered presenting Marjory to Richard, in all of her mascara-smeared glory. But it wasn’t really fair. ‘No, you go on home. And for heaven’s sake, wipe that stuff off your face.’

‘Oh gosh, yes!’ Marjory pulled out a tissue and scrubbed at her cheeks. It didn’t really help. ‘Are you sure you don’t want us to stay for a while? It might not be safe here on your own.’

‘Nothing is going to happen,’ Audrey said firmly. ‘The whole charade is a perfect waste of time.’

‘Then why-’ Marjory broke off. ‘Never mind. Stupid question.’

It was a relief when Ned and Marjory finally left and Audrey enjoyed the peace of the hide. Not the most comfortable location to spend six hours, but it was a small price to pay for six hours of Richard’s company.

A fact that everyone in the village apparently knew.

Propping her chin in her hand, Audrey stared blankly across the fields. It was a perfect night: clear skies, the moon rising and a breeze that still held a touch of summer’s warmth.

It was, however, a little unnerving. Every sound seemed louder, harder to identify and Audrey started to regret sending Marjory off. And when she heard the crack of twigs under footsteps, she gripped hold of her torch, judging its weight.

And then, from outside, a familiar voice said softly, ‘Audrey?’

Her shoulders sagged with relief. A light appeared in the opening and a second later, Richard slipped into the hide. ‘I didn’t want to frighten you.’

‘I don’t scare that easily,’ Audrey responded crisply, ignoring the remnants of the sudden fear that were still making her heart beat a little faster than usual.

He joined her by the low ledge, gingerly taking the camping stool beside hers with the air of a man who had little faith in the robustness of strips of canvas and hollow metal tubing. He switched off his torch and there was absolute darkness, broken by ominous creaks from the camping stools.

‘It’s all done,’ he said. ‘There’ll be two hundred and fifty units of Mrs fforbes-Hamilton’s Bee Eater Honey ready for the paying public by morning.’

‘It really is very kind of you.’

‘Yes, it is,’ he agreed and she laughed.

Her eyes adjusted to the gloom, and the faint glow of moonlight poking its way into their shelter allowed her to make out his profile.

‘How much am I paying you for it?’

‘Fifteen pence per jar.’

‘And you sell it for fifty-nine!’ It was outrageous.

‘And then you slap a two pound price tag on it faster than you can say “mark-up”.’

‘Yes, well…’ Audrey blew out a breath. She heard him laugh softly. A pause, and then she said, ‘I keep thinking about Patrick Aston.’

‘The fish man?’

‘Mm.’

‘What on earth do you want to think about him for?’

‘I don’t want to, I just can’t help it. He was selling farmed salmon and pretending it was wild, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes.’ Richard sounded puzzled. Then his camping stool made an alarming series of creaks and groans as he turned towards her. ‘Audrey, you’re not doing anything like that.’

‘Aren’t I?’

‘Of course not. That man is a fraudster. You’re just trading on a brand name, it’s completely different.’

‘But I’m selling your honey as natural honey.’

‘My honey is natural!’

She was sceptical. ‘Is it?’

‘Of course is it.’ He sounded offended. ‘On a larger scale than yours, but the process is the same. I couldn’t call it natural honey if it wasn’t. Well, I could. But I wouldn’t. I am not like Patrick Aston.’

‘I know that,’ she said quickly. ‘It just- It _feels_ like a fraud. I’m passing it off as being from my own hives.’

‘My hives are your hives for the foreseeable future,’ he said comfortingly. ‘There you are: now you’re not even fibbing.’

‘Just stretching the truth.’

‘That’s just good business sense. It isn’t as though you’re making false claims. You’re not saying it’s honey from bees that only feed on a specific flower or that it comes from an actual bee eater.’ He paused. ‘If honey does come from that bird, you should be charging a lot more than two pounds.’ She could sense him smiling and felt her own lips curve upwards in response. ‘I still can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself. I must be slipping.’

‘It’s rather endearing,’ she said into the silvered shadows that surrounded them.

‘What is?’

‘The clear-sighted businessman more concerned about protecting a bird than turning a profit.’

‘Oh, don’t say that. I have a reputation to maintain.’

Audrey didn’t ask what reputation he thought that was: if he were fishing for compliments, he would have to look elsewhere. The truth was that in the village the sentiment towards him was one of near-universal adoration.

‘Which reminds me: I have some papers for you to sign.’

‘Oh?’

‘Don’t worry, it isn’t anything sinister. It’s a standard copyright to protect the brand name.’

Audrey laughed, incredulous. ‘Isn’t that going a bit far?’

‘Not at all. Word about the bee eater will spread fast enough and, like I said, it’s a great brand name. The last thing you need is some unscrupulous businessman cashing in on the enterprise that you’ve established.’

She tilted her head. ‘That sounds like you’re speaking from experience.’

‘A bitter one,’ he confirmed, ‘but I never let it happen again. Sign the papers when we finish here, I can fax them to the lawyers and they’ll be filed by close of business. You, the name, your logo, they’ll be safe. There’s, uh, there’s also another document…’

She steeled herself. ‘Well?’

‘Should you decide to sell your wares through a third party, it’s an exclusive deal to supply Cavendish Foods. Starting with the honey, but we’ll take the candles, the mead and anything else you produce. Final terms to be agreed at a later date.’

The sheer front of the man was unbelievable. The assumption that she would simply go along with this!

‘You don’t have to agree, of course,’ he said, reasonable as always. ‘But it isn’t the worst idea.’

‘Under the circumstances, I can hardly refuse.’ She tried to sound brisk and businesslike. It didn’t quite come out that way. Far too much warmth in her voice. Was that how she always sounded when she talked to him, she wondered. Was that why everyone knew?’

‘Good. I- Oh. I knew I’d forgotten something.’ He stood, the canvas groaning unmercifully at the motion. ‘I’ll only be a moment.’

‘But where-’

He was already gone. Audrey heard a door of the Range Rover opening and then closing and after a few moments, Richard returned, this time carrying a hamper.

‘Mrs Beecham’s compliments,’ he said. ‘Going by the weight, she’s supplied us with enough food for a platoon.’

Curiosity piqued, Audrey switched on her torch and shone it at the hamper. ‘What’s in it?’

Sandwiches, pâté, cheese, crackers, fruit…

‘Is that a bottle of champagne?’

‘Half bottle.’

Without thinking, Audrey shone the torch into his face. ‘Why?’

Squinting against the glare, Richard reached across and switched it off. It seemed unfathomably dark.

‘Why not?’

Why not, indeed? But there was something in his tone. ‘And the other reason?’

Silence and then she heard him blow out a breath. ‘It’s a bit silly.’

‘It can’t be any more silly than pretending your drawing room is Switzerland.’

‘I don’t know…’

‘Oh, you have to tell me now!’

‘Well,’ he said reluctantly, ‘all right. Do you remember that TV series, _The Avengers_?’

‘Patrick Macnee? Oh yes, I loved that!’

‘So did I. Well… Whenever they were keeping watch for assorted criminal masterminds, there always seemed to be champagne about. It all seemed very glamorous and romantic.’

She smiled to herself. That was also very endearing. ‘I see. So, I’m Emma Peel to your John Steed?’

‘Something like that.’

Audrey took a breath. ‘Theirs was a platonic relationship.’

‘Was it? I always thought there was a bit more to it than that.’ There was a pause and then he cleared his throat softly. ‘Audrey…’

‘Yes? Richard?’ Another of those delirious teetering moments. And it would be so easy to fall, but she wouldn’t, she shouldn’t, but it would be so very easy…

‘Audrey… What’s that?’

‘What?’ she asked, breathless.

‘That.’

‘I don’t-’

‘Shh! Listen!’

She heard it then: the low throb of an engine; and when she looked out, there were headlights cutting through the darkness and heading straight towards the tree and its precious visitors.

‘Twitchers,’ Richard hissed, as though they were the worst blot on the face of humanity. Given their timing, Audrey agreed.

‘What do we do?’

‘Stop them. They’re after the eggs. Come on!’

They crept out of the hide. The engine and the lights had cut out and they could hear voices floating on the night air. A Land Rover was parked on the opposite side of the small spinney and they could make out dark shapes moving about. Torch beams appeared.

Audrey located Richard’s ear. ‘Can you see how many?’

‘Three, I think.’

‘They might have left the keys in the Rover. If we take them, they’re stuck.’

‘Good idea.’

They started creeping forwards, and Audrey reflected on the irony of the lord of the manor moving stealthily across his own land as though he were a poacher.

She did not reflect for long. The torchlight ahead of them was swinging erratically and in one pass the beam caught them. A shout went up.

‘Damn it!’ Richard gave her a little prod. ‘Go on!’

Audrey hesitated for a moment, saw Richard charge towards the trespassers and started running.

She had once been both the school’s cross country and steeplechase champion. But that was a long time ago now, and she could feel her lungs burning as she gasped in air, her legs feeling heavy. Emma Peel, Audrey thought grimly, had never had to give chase while wearing wellies and a tweed skirt. If she had, her adventures might have turned out very differently. There were shouts, thuds and she tried to ignore the horrible thought that there were three of them and only one of Richard.

It was just a bird, after all. It wasn’t worth getting hurt over. Or worse.

But she was nearing the Rover and on the periphery of her vision, she was aware of a dark shape, carrying a torch, also running towards it. She put on a burst of speed and got there first, wrenched open the door and let out a cry of triumph when her hand closed over the keys still in the ignition.

‘Give me those keys!’

A little man with a weasel face and a ratty-looking green parka.

‘Not on your life!’ The words came out in gasps.

He lunged at her. ‘I said give ‘em, you bi-’

He was grabbed by the collar and shaken, the way a terrier shakes a rat. In the jerking beam of light, Audrey saw Richard deliver one blow to the man’s jaw. He crumpled.

‘Are you all right?’ Richard asked her, urgent.

‘I’m fine. Are you?’

He grinned at her. ‘Never felt better.’

‘Oh, Richard!’ She felt breathless and exhilarated. Impulsively, she threw her arms around his neck. He caught her, held her to him for a moment, and then Audrey pulled away, smoothing down her hair.

There were two other shapes huddled on the ground some distance away, one of them audibly lamenting a possible broken nose.

‘Well,’ Richard said, ‘I think we’ve definitely earned that champagne!’

 

*****

 

It took some time to make the sleepy desk sergeant at Marlbury police station understand what she was telling him. Audrey had, at first, been insistent that they both go. But, as Richard had pointed out, if another group of twitchers turned up, it would all have been for nothing.

They had discussed it while drinking the champagne and eating their sandwiches (both were excellent), and Audrey felt that this was the ideal way to arrive at any decision. In the end, she had driven down to Marlbury alone.

When the sergeant finally realised that Mr DeVere was standing guard over a group of miscreants, on his own, and there was a possibility that more were on the way, there was more activity than the station had seen in decades. A constable was dispatched, immediately, to the scene; and after a somewhat fraught telephone conversation, a support team was due to start out from Taunton within the hour.

It was after five by the time that she and Richard started towards home: a slightly shorter watch than they had signed up for, but certainly the most eventful. They reached the lodge first and without consultation, Audrey led the way to her own front door.

‘Tea or coffee?’Audrey asked once they were inside. The house was silent and they spoke quietly, not wanting to wake Brabinger. It wasn’t just altruism: after a night filled with noise and other people, neither wanted to lose the simple pleasure of being alone together.

Richard scrubbed at his face. ‘Coffee. Do you need any help?’

‘No. I’ll bring it through when it’s ready.’

She moved quickly around the small kitchen. That was one thing that limited space had in its favour, Audrey thought: nothing ever took very long. Her eyes alighted on the few jars of honey that were left over from the day’s endeavours and smiled to herself. Of course, Richard had swept in at the last minute to solve her problems. It was what he did.

And maybe, just maybe, whatever it was that he wanted to say to her would be a solution to their conundrum. Perhaps he could see an answer that she couldn’t.

Picking up the tray, Audrey carried it into the sitting room, placed it on the table. ‘You still haven’t told me what it was you wanted to-’

He was asleep. His cheek propped up on one hand, long legs stretched out on the rug, his eyes were closed and his breathing deep and regular.

Audrey sighed, watching him for a few moments. ‘It’s probably just as well,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t get to have you.’

A comma of dark hair had fallen across his forehead and she couldn’t resist gently brushing it back. It was silken between her fingers and she studied the lines of his handsome face.

And then the doorbell rang, a shrill tone that cut through these moments of stillness; Audrey moved away guiltily, fiddling with the photographs on the mantelpiece as Richard stirred.

It was Mr Cadwallader and what seemed to be a perfect battalion of bird enthusiasts. Audrey had not particularly cared for him the first time around but now she felt active dislike. The house suddenly seemed to be full of people and she loathed each and every one of them. Brabinger came down, pulling on his black jacket and still looking bleary-eyed.

A touch on her elbow and Audrey turned, found Richard’s dark eyes regarding her seriously. ‘I still need you to sign those papers.’

They had been in his jacket pocket and he pulled them out, urging her to read them. She waved that away and located a pen. ‘I trust you,’ she said, smiling up at him.

Cadwallader appeared to be locked in a debate with the Taunton police over the best way to guard a tree. Richard looked at them, incredulous, and shook his head. He turned his attention back to Audrey.

‘Look, why don’t we have lunch later?’

‘That would be lovely. What time shall I come over?’

‘How about I pick you up instead and we go to the Harbour Arms? Say, one o’clock?’

‘All right. I’ll see you then – Mr Steed.’

He smiled at her and raised his hand in salutation. ‘Mrs Peel.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter Bowles, Penelope Keith and Gerald Sim all appeared, at various points, as guests in ‘The Avengers’. Bowles and Sim actually once appeared in the same episode: ‘Dial a Deadly Number’ in 1965.


	22. A Taste of Honey: Part Two

_22\. A Taste of Honey: Part Two_

 

 

Audrey took the bill before her lunch companion could get hold of it.

‘It really is my treat this time,’ she said firmly.

Maria Polouvicka spread her hands. ‘But Bedrich-’

‘I know – entertaining foreign clients. But he’s done enough for me for one week. More than enough. Besides, I can afford it for a change.’

It had felt liberating to be able to pay bills – to pay Brabinger! – and hold her head up because she could actually pay and not out of bravado and daring anyone to say anything to her because of who she used to be.

‘Ah!’ Maria smiled at her happily. ‘Yes, I heard about your honey. Bedrich was very impressed.’

Audrey raised a wry eyebrow. ‘Really? He told me off for being unbusinesslike.’

The old lady’s face clouded, a heavy scowl settling across her features. ‘Bah! Why should a woman know anything about business?’

‘I rather imagine Richard would expect it,’ Audrey replied lightly. And uncertain why she had started down this particular path, she said, ‘I understand that Anna was very business-minded.’

Maria looked at her in surprise. ‘Anna? Well, yes. But she had no choice, poor girl. She was like us – her family came from the old country and she always had to work. What was it she used to say..?’ She thought for a moment and then her face cleared. ‘Oh, yes: “I’m a working girl; I have to hustle!”’

Audrey smiled in response to the obvious affection in Maria’s face. Anna sounded as though she had been rather fun. Along with being hauntingly beautiful and highly intelligent. Audrey sighed. ‘Perhaps if I had “hustled” a bit more, I’d be in a better position now.’

‘But no-one expects it of a woman like you!’ Maria clasped her hands together. ‘Besides, now you have Bedrich.’

It was, as far as Maria was concerned, very simple. Bedrich loved Audrey, Audrey loved the manor, the manor belonged to Bedrich. Marry, and everyone would get what they wanted.

But the English were a strange people and this fixation on marrying for love was not something she understood. She had not been in love with Mateusz when they had married, but that had not stopped them from being very happy. And she had loved him deeply once she had got to know him better. Tall and handsome, like their son would be, a hard worker, not a big talker but a kind, considerate man.

Of course, Bedrich and Anna had been in love and they had also been very happy, so perhaps there was something in it, after all.

Maria turned her attention back to Audrey.

‘He’s been very kind,’ Audrey was saying vaguely, busying herself by hunting through the contents of her handbag. ‘But I really can’t impose on him any further.’

Maria waved her hands, dismissing this idea. ‘He likes to feel useful! It makes him happy.’

Audrey couldn’t help but smile. ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to do anything to make Richard _un_ happy.’

The old lady’s eyes gleamed. She had seen an opening. And Audrey saw that she had seen an opening. In desperation, her eyes raked the faces of the other patrons of the Old Coach Inn.

‘Oh, isn’t that Ferdy?’

Maria’s head whipped around. ‘Where?’

For once, Audrey thought, all the saints and angels appeared to be on her side. Ferdynand Wiśniewski, over by the bar, raised his hand in salutation and then made his way over to them.

It was quite something, to see the redoubtable Maria Polouvicka become girlish, flirtatious even, at her admirer’s approach. A slender, elegant man with a shock of white hair and grey eyes. Ferdy bowed over Audrey’s hand in the approved style of another era. He repeated this with Maria – but kept hold of her hand, Audrey noticed. With his courtly manners and clipped, accented English, Ferdy was the epitome of the old-school gentleman, right down to his immaculate navy blazer, grey flannel trousers and striped silk tie. The men in Mrs Poo’s life were certainly a well-tailored lot, Audrey thought with a smile.

She slipped out of the banquette seat, paid the bill and made her way outside.

There was nothing quite like an English summer’s day, she thought. Audrey turned her face up to the sun, eyes closed, and breathed in the heavy, scented air. A few high hazy clouds in an otherwise azure sky and everything around her was verdant in that overblown style of late summer just before the season changed to autumn.

The village looked almost preposterously idyllic, even the old school house looking- Well, better than it had for a while, actually. Especially since the hazardous materials signs had been taken down and it less resembled the site of an apocalypse. The brickwork had been repointed, the roof entirely replaced, all of the windows cleaned and fresh mortar replacing the crumbling remnants that had allowed in gale-force draughts in winter.

Even the flowerbeds outside had been tended and replanted. It would be quite the nicest looking supermarket in England. Still a pity that the school itself had had to move, but perhaps that wouldn’t be quite such a disaster. The original plans for the new building had been grey and angular and the entire village had protested, vehemently, against it. Including Richard. He had even gone so far as to have a new design drawn up, one that would cost no more than the original, but would be more in keeping with the village’s aesthetic. It had been accepted by the council, to everyone’s satisfaction.

The train station was also looking much better these days; their efforts to clean it up and renovate it had been aided in no small part by yet another ‘anonymous’ donation that had covered cleaning the brickwork, refurbishing the waiting room, landscaping the exterior and even a careful restoration of the fforbes-Hamilton coat of arms that once again hung proudly above the ticket booths.

In the three years he had been at Grantleigh, Richard had been able to do more for their little community than she had in the previous twenty. It wasn’t something she felt resentful of anymore.

‘Audrey!’

Maria had emerged from the inn on Ferdy’s arm. ‘Can we take you home?’

The Corniche, with its chauffeur, was waiting patiently – but John was clearly not the ‘we’ in that sentence and Audrey wondered how Richard was taking the presence of a gentleman friend in his mother’s life. He had not mentioned it since the evening of the binoculars incident – and that had been an uncomfortable half-hour of misdirection, prevarication and embarrassed outrage, rather than outright denial. She couldn’t bring herself to be that hypocritical.

‘No thanks, Mrs Poo. I still have some errands to run.’

It was a pleasant walk back through the village, although she felt rather warm and pink-cheeked by the time she reached the lodge.

Brabinger greeted her with the usual formality, taking her shopping basket and jacket. There was a small package on the hall table and Audrey looked at it with pointed enquiry.

‘Mr DeVere stopped by a little time ago, Madam.’

‘Oh, I see.’ The disappointment ran through her like a pain.

After putting away the groceries and dismissing Brabinger, Audrey curled herself into the armchair and studied the plain brown-paper wrapping before sliding her nails beneath the tape and opening it.

It was a small, slim thing when it was revealed: a simple sketch on creamy paper, darkening with age and framed with stiff card, the artist’s signature clear in one corner. A muddy Winnie-the-Pooh hanging onto a balloon, planning an attack on a beehive.

Audrey’s eyes ran lovingly over the pencil strokes and she laughed.


	23. The Thunderbolt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during ‘Business Troubles’.

_23\. The Thunderbolt_

 

She should have known that morning that something terrible was going to happen. Brabinger had tried to convince her that there were only twelve segments in her grapefruit, but she had _known_ there had been thirteen. Tiles might blow off the roof, she had thought; or the Rolls need servicing yet again. But not this. Not something this calamitous.

Audrey made her way back across the fields from Peregrine’s Folly, barely noticing anything around her. Not the rector waving to her from his bicycle, not Ned calling to her from the row of saplings he was planting. The entire world had shrunk to one whirling pinpoint: he might go.

It was unthinkable.

Three years ago she might have been delighted by the news, rejoiced that this stranger who had taken her home from her was getting his comeuppance. A little under three years ago, she might have felt saddened by the news, but wished him well.

But this was now, and she felt numb.

Not entirely numb: she also felt a little stupid. He had told her she wouldn’t understand, and she hadn’t. Only she had not understood on a monumental scale that had surprised even him.

Anna DeVere would have understood, Audrey thought gloomily. With her beautiful face and her head for business. She wouldn’t have made some glib comment about swallows, or completely failed to realise the enormity of what he was saying to her. She would have offered counsel and support; she would have been wise and comforting and she would have been strong for this man who was strong for every one else.

That was the kind of woman he wanted. One who understood his world. Someone like Anna. Or Claudine DuToit. Now that was a depressing thought. A wealthy, independent, multilingual business woman with fashion-model looks. She was like the heroine of one those interminable Barbara Taylor Bradford tomes that Marjory was so fond of. And as Richard looked, talked and behaved like a romance novelist’s conception of a high-powered business man, he and Claudine were almost laughably well-suited.

Whereas Audrey…

She had never been lacking in confidence – although bravado might be a more accurate word, sometimes – but she was not under any illusions. She was a penniless blue-blood who couldn’t tell a bull from a bear in the marketplace (were those even the right terms?!) and who had thrown almost every act of kindness he had ever shown her back in his face. She honestly sometimes wondered why he still bothered with her at all.

Audrey reached the lodge, dragging a reluctant and malodorous Bertie into the kitchen. His protests ignored, he was deposited in the sink and ruthlessly washed. He was rubbed down briskly with the old, stiff towels kept especially for Bertie-washing purposes and once released spent the next twenty minutes racing around the house shaking himself and howling his indignation.

The doorbell rang and Audrey answered it to find Marjory, bright-eyed as always, fluttering about her doorstep.

‘Have you seen Richard? I went up to the manor, but they said he was out. He’s borrowed my guide to British birds. Of course, he can keep it as long as he likes, but I do rather need it back.’

She followed Audrey into the kitchen, where Audrey set about making tea with mechanical movements.

‘He was up at Peregrine’s Folly.’

Marjory’s face brightened. ‘Really? I haven’t been up there for ages. Wasn’t that always your favourite place, Aud? How funny.’

Audrey had lost count of how many spoons of tea leaves had gone into the pot. It would either be like treacle, or like slightly-flavoured hot water.

‘He’s talking about leaving.’

‘He’s always leaving,’ Marjory said, unclear as to why this should be worth mentioning. ‘Although, he has only just got back. I say, Aud, have you got any biscuits in? I’m starving.’

‘I mean leaving permanently. Selling Grantleigh.’ She felt the weight of the words in her mouth. They hung in the air.

Marjory stared at her, her mouth opening, shutting, opening again. ‘What did you do?’

Audrey blinked at her. ‘Me?’

‘You’ve finally done it. You’ve driven him away!’ Marjory’s face crumpled slightly. ‘Oh, how could you?’

‘It’s nothing to do with me! It’s…’ Damnit, she still didn’t quite understand. ‘It’s money troubles. He needs money, so he might have to sell Grantleigh.’

‘Money troubles…’ Marjory bit her lip. The tea was made, but rather than move through to the sitting room, Audrey sank down at the kitchen table beside Marjory. Silently, they started on their tea. A plate of digestive biscuits had been produced, but Marjory found that her appetite had gone. ‘There must be something we can do to help.’

Audrey smiled wryly. ‘Do you have a couple of million hidden under your mattress?’

‘I wish!’ Marjory sighed. ‘He’d be welcome to it. And after everything he’s done here…’

‘We can hardly return the church roof and get a refund,’ Audrey said, a waspish bite to her tone. The whole community had started to revolve around the fact that Richard DeVere had money and was quite happy to spend it where needed. And now that _he_ needed something, they were helpless.

And Audrey hated being helpless.

Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he was making out. All of that about a conspiracy against him. It was, perhaps, just insecurity – although, Richard was the least insecure person she had ever met. Armour-plated self-belief was more like it. That was what had taken him from East End poverty to head of a hugely successful corporation.

But tiny needle-jabs of memory kept pricking at her. His dismay at the stories being spread about him the night of her party after her fake-holiday; sardonic comments about class and money; his cynicism about privilege and-

_Your lot._

She felt sick. That wasn’t how he saw her, surely? Her class and background didn’t automatically make her some backstabbing snob, any more than his made him any less of the gentleman that he unquestionably was.

Audrey had always thought the Old Boy Network was something of a myth, an exaggeration, but what if it weren’t? And there must be any number of deeply unpleasant, underhanded people involved in the business world. Men such as the appalling Patrick Aston, and Audrey could well imagine a creature like that conspiring against someone they viewed as an outsider.

Richard must have been coming up against people like that his entire life, fighting them every step. How exhausting, she thought, and how disheartening. Every time you’d thought you’d won to have to start the fight all over again. And missing the one person he could talk to about it all.

She could give him that at least, she decided. A confidante. If nothing else, she could give him that.


	24. Going, Going...

_24\. Going, Going..._

 

_Richard replaced the receiver, pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes against the impending headache that those phone calls always produced._

_‘I don’t like that man.’_

_He opened his eyes. Anna, perched on the edge of his desk, took a sip from the glass she was holding and then passed it to him. He took the whisky gratefully, feeling its smooth warmth spread through. It had become a ritual: sharing a drink while they talked over the day._

_‘Which man?’_

_‘Gayforth. I don’t trust him, either. His eyes are too close together.’_

_Richard let out a shout of laughter. ‘He can’t help that; it’s all the inbreeding. At least you didn’t say it’s because of the shape of his head.’_

_‘I’m not wild about that, either,’ Anna murmured darkly._

_His hand on her knee, thumb brushing gently back and forth against the smooth skin._

_‘How did you know I was talking to him, anyway?’_

_Anna reclaimed the glass, took another mouthful. ‘You always look that like that after you’ve spoken to him. Like you have a pain.’_

_‘You’re right, I do. Right in my-’_

_‘Richard!’ Warningly. He grinned at her._

_‘You started it.’_

_Anna shook her head. ‘What am I going to do with you?’_

_‘I have a few suggestions.’ His hand slipped a little higher; she knocked it away, pulled her skirt primly over her knees. Richard sat back, laughing._

_‘Gayforth is an idiot, but he’s harmless.’_

_‘He’s weak, which means he’s easily led. Especially with that other one around.’_

_‘Lumsden?’_

_She nodded._

_‘Yes,’ Richard said, thoughtful. ‘Yes, he’s far from stupid.’_

_‘And he has eyes like a shark,’ Anna added promptly. ‘I don’t understand why you didn’t hire people like us.’_

_‘People like us don’t have the connections of people like them,’ he told her, and there was a grimness in his tone that wasn’t heard very often._

_Anna’s face clouded. ‘No.’ Her eyes wandered over his face. ‘You don’t trust these men, do you?’_

_He snorted. ‘Of course not. Play the game but don’t let them play you – that’s what someone told me last week and it’s pretty sound advice.’_

_‘Who was that?’_

_‘Uh… Hartley, I think that was the name. Seems to spend his time giving two fingers to the City, but that’s the sort of thing you can do when you’re richer than God and your family were here to meet the Normans. The rest of us have to put up with the Gayforths of this world.’_

_Anna let out a breath, her forehead creasing.’You are going to be careful with them, aren’t you?’_

_‘Anna…’ He pulled her into his lap, her arms sliding around his neck, her fingers curling into his hair. He tasted the whisky on her lips. ‘Darling, what could they possibly do to me?’_

 

*****

 

It had been intensely satisfying to fire Gayforth. Seeing that stupid face slacken with disbelief. Anna had been right – his eyes were too close together.

The arrogance of the man. Him, Lumsden, every single member of their whole damn class.

Richard took a steadying breath. That was unfair. They weren’t all like that. The Brigadier, for instance, or Marjory, or-

Or Audrey.

He shut his eyes against the pain of that. It had seemed so close, almost within his grasp and then Greville Hartley had died.

Audrey had shown an incredible degree of loyalty. In a wife or a lover it would be called devotion, but she was neither of those things. He still couldn’t quite believe what she had done and she had done it for him. Was it possible..?

He pulled away from that thought, refilled his glass, adding less soda than he should. He was drinking too much, he knew that. But for one night, or at least for a couple of hours, he would allow himself the indulgence of self-pity and regret.

Just as well he had never managed to ask her to marry him, because if he had become the second man in her life to lose the manor for her, she would never have forgiven him.

Letting go of the manor was one thing – he hated to do it, but he could stand the loss. There were always other houses. Letting go of Audrey, however, was something else.

His mother had been adamant from the start that Audrey would marry him to get the manor back, and she was probably right. After all, her first marriage had been little more than a business contract; it had also been a deeply unhappy one and he wondered if she thought it had been worth it. He never asked her, not wishing to hurt her and not really wanting to hear the answer.

He wanted more than that from her. He wanted her love. If he were completely honest, he wanted her to want him whether he had the manor or not. But that was an impossibility and he couldn’t really blame her. Grantleigh had a four-hundred year head start on him and he couldn’t expect to replace it in her affections in just three.

But there had been times, when there had been something in her eyes, that he had wondered if maybe, just maybe, she felt the same deep longing that he did. For as accustomed as he had become to reading her moods, there was still something unknowable there. Especially in the past year. They had seemed to be getting closer but then something had changed. Each time it felt as though they had reached the point where he could, at last, have the conversation with her that he so badly wanted to, she would draw back. Some sort of barrier would go up and he didn’t know what it was.

But it was all over now, anyway.

Richard raised the glass to his lips, paused, and then put it down. Enough of that. He’d picked his battle and come morning he’d have to be ready to fight it.

 

*****

 

The hall of Grantleigh Manor had always been a vast, echoing space, but it seemed even more so now. Packing cases, empty spaces where paintings and furniture used to be and strange thuds from deeper within the house gave the whole place a strangely desolate air. It was horribly familiar from the scenes of three years before.

Audrey stood, aimless, in the hallway, until a housemaid with an armload of linen passed through and told her, tearfully, that the master was in the room with his china.

Of course, Audrey thought, and made her way there. Carpets had been rolled up and her heels clicked briskly along the corridors until she reached the door, pushed it open.

Richard was alone, carefully placing the collection of beautiful, delicate objects into boxes. He looked up when she entered and smiled.

‘If there’s anything you want, I can offer you a very good price.’

Her throat tightened. ‘Richard, don’t joke.’

‘Force of habit. Anyway, life’s too short to take it seriously.’

He seemed quite at ease, as though it weren’t the world falling apart.

‘How’s your mother taking it?’

A slight grimace rippled across his features. ‘Any moment now you’ll hear it echoing through the house.’

‘What?’

‘“Just like leaving home in thirty-nine”.’ The accented falsetto was a pitch-perfect rendition of Mrs Poo and ordinarily it would have made her laugh, but not now.

Audrey’s face creased. ‘That’s awful.’

Richard laughed lightly. ‘She’s been saying that every time we’ve moved since I was sixteen. And invariably, she’s spent most of the time before the move complaining about the house, the neighbours, how much she dislikes her friends…’

‘I hadn’t noticed any of that.’

‘No,’ Richard paused. ‘No… It has been different here.’

Packing straw littered the table, had spilled down onto the floor. Audrey picked up a piece, worried at it, twisting it between her fingers. ‘Where will you stay?’

‘Back at the London flat. Well, not for the first few days: we’ll be staying at mother’s favourite hotel. The one she calls the cabbage hotel.’

‘The cabb- Oh! The Savoy?’ Audrey frowned. ‘But can you afford that now?’

‘Yes, of course.’ It was his turn to frown, puzzled, and then his face cleared. ‘I’m not bankrupt, Audrey!’

‘You’re not?’ Uncertain.

‘Of course not.’

‘But…’ Her eyes moved around the elegant room, now with its empty cabinets and packing crates.

Richard smiled at her kindly, as though she were the one in need of sympathy. ‘Most of my private assets are tied up in hedge funds and investments. I can’t access the money immediately – well, not without taking a huge financial hit, and I’m not prepared to do that. Grantleigh is the one asset I have that can be liquidated quickly enough. It’s Cavendish or Grantleigh at the moment; I can’t keep both.’

‘Oh.’ She continued twisting the straw through her fingers, a cord tightening, biting into the flesh. ‘I don’t seem to have understood any of this. No head for business.’

‘I wouldn’t say that.’

His face was alive with warmth and tenderness and the gleam in his dark eyes pulled her in. Audrey gave herself a mental shake, turned her attention to the objects he had been so carefully packing away.

‘Will there be enough space in your London flat for all this?’

‘There would be, but it’s all going straight to Sotheby’s.’

Her eyes widened, horrified. ‘No… No! How can you?!’

‘Very easily.’ He was still so calm. She felt like taking hold of him and shaking him until something in that iron-clad equanimity cracked. ‘There’s already been some interest in some of the items. Especially these.’

She knew what he was talking about before she saw them: the Egyptian pot and the Cheops. There was a lump in her throat that was choking her, a rising pressure that she couldn’t keep in. Audrey dashed a hand across her eyes.

‘But you love them.’

He watched her for a moment, surprised by the strength of her distress. ‘Yes, I do, but they’re just things. I’m not sentimental.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t believe that.’ She couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice. Tears so hot they burned blinded her; she pulled the silk square from his breast-pocket and pressed it to her face.

‘Come here.’ He held her then, oblivious to the maelstrom in her head so fierce that it seemed to her that it had taken over her whole body.

Let it go, she begged him silently. Walk away from it all and come back here to me. But that would be the same as admitting defeat and she knew he would never do that. He would protect the thing that he had created, built, because anything else would be unthinkable for him. It wouldn’t be him if he did anything else. He wouldn’t be the man she had come to love so well.

He could have the money. He could save his company and keep the manor.

She raised her head, eyelashes studded with tears and her blue eyes deep. He couldn’t stop himself: Richard took the damp square of silk from her fingers and dabbed her cheeks with it.

‘Richard, if I had the money-’

‘I know.’ His smile was a little lopsided. ‘And you know I’d never take it.’

More tears welled up, spilling down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop them. ‘I’ve said some terrible things to you.’

‘Yes, but it’s all right,’ he said lightly. ‘I never took them seriously.’

‘Didn’t you?’

For a moment his thumb skimmed her cheek. ‘No. You see, I know you for who you really are.’

Audrey hid her face against his chest.

She just had to make it through the auction. Until then, nothing could be settled. And if she were outbid again; or if he lost everything… Well, she would still have the lodge. They could live there. Or in London, if he wanted. She could sell her honey; she’d even try her hand at a fruit stall, if it came to that.

He was stroking her back, a comforting caress. ‘It’s all right, Audrey. Honestly, everything’s going to be all right.’ He put one hand under her chin, made her look at him. ‘I’m going to miss you,’ he said.

Audrey caught her breath. ‘It’s not like we’re never going to see each other again. You’ll be coming to visit m- us. And it’s not like I never go up to London. Or are you saying that you can’t ever put up an old friend?’ Her hands, palms flat, rested against his chest.

‘Friend…’ His eyes wandered over over her face. ‘Yes, of course.’

Ask me now, she thought. Just ask, and I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth.

‘Audrey!’

Maria Polouvicka burst into the room and Richard let go of her gently. Audrey pulled in a breath that seemed to get stuck somewhere in the middle of her chest before she was finally able to push it down.

‘How are you, Mrs Poo?’

The old lady’s eyes filled with tears. ‘It’s just like leaving home in thirty-nine,’ she wailed.

Audrey managed a slightly watery smile in response and, over the top of Maria’s head, saw Richard roll his eyes and then calmly continue packing up the crate.


	25. Gone

_25\. Gone_

 

Audrey slid the frame back into the hive, her movements slow and careful. Calmed by the smoke, the bees buzzed only languidly, their drone a reminder of summer warmth in the chill of the autumnal air.

‘This is your new home,’ she told them.

Not far from the lodge. They would soon find their way. You had to tell bees about all the things that had happened, all of the changes. And so she told them about the man who had come from a place so far away; how he had turned himself into someone new; how he had built an empire and that had brought him here. And now he was gone.

The honeycomb glistened, oozing its sticky sweetness.

‘But it isn’t over,’ she said, reassuring. ‘He’ll be back.’

If it all worked out. It would have to. Mrs Poo had replied to the invitation with enthusiasm and Audrey sensed that she was prepared to deliver Richard bound and gagged if need be.

But her fondest imaginings weren’t the same as being sure.

Away from the hives, Audrey removed the hat and veil and gauntlets. She was still reacquainting herself with the house. Parts of it were almost unrecognisable: where there had been decay, there was clean plaster, fresh paint, restored panelling and woodwork. She had been aware of the work carried out at the manor but had never truly realised the extent of what he had done.

The servants’ hall and quarters, Mrs Beecham had told her, had been the first things attended to.

But he had come from the sort of grinding deprivation that she couldn’t even imagine; it was natural that he would want to help the people under his care before he did anything else.

Four hundred years of fforbes-Hamiltons, their traditions and rituals and patronage, were built into the walls of Grantleigh. And now, inscribed over everything, was Richard DeVere. She could feel him as she walked around the manor, half expected to find him leaning against the fireplace in the library, looking at her with that gleam in his eyes as though he had some secret that he found wildly entertaining.

Or in his study, with the safe that now stood with its door swinging open. No fire-like glow from it now. It was empty. But it wasn’t the money that had given that room its warmth.

There was one room that she hadn’t entered since her return, but she would have to face it eventually. Her feet took her there now and Audrey took a breath before pushing the door open, remembering that day when she had first seen its golden glow, the glorious light streaming through the high windows. The discovery of a shared passion and the moment when something in her had changed.

Now it was just a beautifully decorated room. The lowering sun pierced the space, glinting off the highlights of gilt and warming the pale gold of the walls. It felt terribly cold. She shivered, turned to leave but a tiny flash of colour caught her eye. Audrey took a few paces into the room. The cabinets were not entirely bare: there was still something in one of them.

A frown deepened as she crossed the room, her hand rested on the handle before she pulled open the glass-fronted door. It was two objects, not one. Sugar pink and pistachio green, a pair of Fabergé demitasse cups. A plain white card was propped against them, a few lines written in a clear hand.

 _To Audrey,_  
_With gratitude for everything._  
_-Richard._

Brabinger heard the muffled sound and followed it. A strange noise that he couldn’t quite place. The door to the old Tea room was standing open and he glanced inside, readying to close it again and then stopped. For a moment he stood very still and then withdrew, quietly pulling the door to.

But it was something he couldn’t stop seeing or hearing: Audrey fforbes-Hamilton, hunched over on herself, and she was weeping.


	26. The Hour of the Wolf: Part Two

_26\. The Hour of the Wolf: Part Two_

 

The reporter’s voice was a brisk chirrup.

_‘Share prices in Cavendish Foods soared today with the announcement of the opening of a new refrigeration plant in Argentina. Cavendish has featured prominently in the financial news lately, amid rumours of a coup against the company’s founder and chairman, Richard DeVere._

_All such rumours were quashed today, with the company’s board of directors – many of whom are newly appointed following a string of firings last week – putting out a statement voicing their support of, and confidence in, Mister DeVere._

_Good news for the workers in Cavendish’s many stores._

_But there is also a sense of unease in the City tonight. Mister DeVere’s flamboyant managerial style has sometimes been viewed with suspicion by the more traditional element in the business community. In many sectors, however, he is being lauded as something of a champion. After all, this is the self-made man who took on the so-called Old Boy Network – and won._

_In other news-’_

Audrey turned the radio off. Her eyes closed, she let out a long breath. It was over. She had reached for the telephone half a dozen times throughout the evening and each time had pulled back. Uncertain what to say to him; fearful, perhaps, that he might have discarded thoughts of her as easily as he had parted with his collection.

He wasn’t sentimental, he had told her.

She still didn’t believe that. Not quite.

Audrey sat on the ottoman at the end of the bed, staring at a patch of carpet. The room was luxuriously large and airy after the lodge. The colours more masculine than when she had last occupied it and she wondered if he had ever realised that he had been sleeping in her bedroom all these years.

A few more feminine touches to leaven the simple lines and dark tones and it would be perfect.

For now, however, the walls seemed to frown at her slightly. Closing in, despite the space and the tasteful opulence.

The need for fresh air drove her from the house. Bertie, unsettled by his mistress’ strange mood and unable to rest as a consequence, willingly submitted to the lead being attached to his collar and trotted at her side. He was not, as Richard had never tired of pointing out, the most effective of guard dogs, but Audrey was glad of his company as she tramped along the pathways that lay in silver and deep shadow. And she was unaware of just how far she had walked until a light showed between the trees and she realised that she had reached Marjory’s cottage.

It was a bleary-eyed Marjory who answered the door. Hair ruffled, in her nightgown and her face creased with sleep, she blinked at Audrey.

‘Oh, Aud, I’ve done everything today I can for the party.’

Audrey, startled, sounded almost accusing: ‘You were asleep.’

Marjory tried to stifle a yawn, failed, and nodded.

‘I’m sorry. I saw the light and thought-’

‘That’s all right. I fell asleep reading my book.’ Marjory took a closer look at her friend’s face. ‘Why don’t you come in? I’ll make some cocoa.’

Audrey hesitated.

‘Oh, come on. It will be like when we were at school and had midnight feasts.’

‘Only without the fear of detention,’ Audrey added, managing to raise a smile. She followed Marjory to her kitchen. The cottage looked, as always, as though a whirlwind had recently passed through. Books, magazines, half-finished craft projects – it was rather like the contents of Marjory’s head made manifest.

‘Did you hear about Richard?’ Marjory asked, her head buried in a cupboard while she tried to locate a mug that wasn’t chipped.

‘Yes, I did hear something,’ Audrey said, with a pretence at nonchalance.

‘I tried calling him, you know, just to say “congratulations”, but there was no reply.’ She poured milk into a pan, added sugar and cocoa powder. ‘He’s probably out somewhere celebrating and won’t be thinking of us at all. I bet he’s drinking champagne in some impossibly glamorous nightclub and probably has beautiful women draped all over him.’

‘Oh really, Marjory!’ Audrey regarded her irritably. ‘I don’t see what all the fuss is about. It took him long enough to get the thing sorted out – what’s he been doing in London all this time? I don’t think he can be that hot as a businessman as we all thought.’

‘Honestly, Aud, you really do say the most dreadful things about poor Richard. No wonder he went racing back to London. And we’ll probably never see him again.’

‘The milk’s boiling over.’

‘Oh..!’ Marjory grabbed the milk pan, poured the volcanically hot liquid into two mugs.

Why do you do it? Audrey asked herself. Why pretend that you don’t care when the evidence that everyone knows you do is monumental. Or was it because they knew that she felt she had to protect herself any way she could.

Marjory placed the two steaming mugs on the table, sat down beside her. It was warm in the kitchen, the aga letting out heat that spread through the cottage. Bertie, finding a convenient bit of rug close by, curled up near the source of warmth and went asleep.

‘Are you all right?’ Marjory asked quietly.

‘I’m fine.’ Audrey took a mouthful of cocoa and regretted it. It burnt her mouth. That was what caused the pressure behind her eyes and the choking lump in her throat, she told herself. She swallowed hard and almost welcomed the scalding heat. It was a distraction from other hurts.

‘He kissed me before he left. Richard,’ Marjory clarified, as though she could have meant anyone else. ‘I know it didn’t mean anything, and he was just being kind, and it only lasted a second… But, gosh, it was lovely.’

She waited for the scorn and sarcasm. There was silence. She braced herself then for the anger.

Audrey took hold of her hand and squeezed her fingers gently. ‘I’m sorry, Marjory.’

Marjory looked at her then and it was one of the few times that Audrey’s face was free of the habitual self-control she exerted at almost all times. Her limpid blue eyes were shadowed and the loss was etched into her features. ‘Oh, Aud…’ She placed her other hand over their clasped fingers and held on.


	27. Shadows: Part Three

_27\. Shadows: Part Three_

 

_Maria Polouvicka searched the hospital corridors with a sense of rising panic. She loathed hospitals – she didn’t know many people who didn’t, she had to admit. It was the hushed voices interspersed with bursts of frantic activity, pagers going off and the combined stench of disinfectant and death._

_She had to find Bedrich._

_Anna was, mercifully, sleeping thanks to a strong sedative. Maria had left her in the care of her sister. Sonia Thuyssen, only recently married herself, was siting at the bedside, her dark eyes huge and frightened._

_She raged at the unfairness. They were good people. They had worked hard, they had never hurt anyone. They had wanted their child so badly. She knew the loss of that, remembered the tiny life that she and Mateusz had wept over, had buried on a hillside during that perilous flight across Europe. She wasn’t even sure where that had been anymore._

_But they had still had their son. And he had been everything to them._

_The anguish in Anna’s face, the wordless cry when she realised what had happened, had been unbearable._

_She was running out of places to look. There was the one place she hadn’t been, simply because it had not occurred to her that he would be there. Bedrich, despite her best efforts, had never been a religious man. Respectful, yes, but not religious._

_In truth, she had found herself attending less lately. Mass should be in Latin and sung. She kept getting lost in this strange English version._

_The chapel was dimly lit, a few votive candles burning. A figure in one of the pews and she knew the line of the shoulders immediately._

_‘Bedrich?’_

_He turned to her, fear clouding his eyes. ‘Anna…’_

_She waved her hands. ‘She’s still sleeping. Sonia is with her.’_

_‘Sonia…’ He sank back down into the pew, passed a hand over his face. ‘I didn’t realise she’d come.’_

_His face was tight, strained, a puffiness around eyes that still glistened._

_‘Oh, my boy…’ Her voice cracked as she reached out to him. He caught her hands. His own were warm and steady._

_‘It’s all right, Mother. Anna will get better. Once we get her home and look after her. But you’ll have to help me with that – you know I’m terrible at that sort of thing.’_

_He was such a beautiful man, her son. He deserved all the happiness in the world. And she was so proud of him; Mateusz would have been so proud…_

_She could feel her face tremble, her throat constricting. He put his arm around her. ‘It’s all right, Mother. I promise you, everything will be all right.’_

 

 

*****

 

 

The slow movement of a Mahler symphony reverberated through the elegant Mayfair flat. Maria had no trouble locating her son: she simply followed the deep bass notes and soaring strings.

‘Bedrich!’ Her commanding summons coincided with the cessation of the piece and her voice rang out with more force than was absolutely necessary.

His chair had been angled towards the window and he spun around. ‘I thought you were at your bridge lesson.’

‘It has finished. It is nearly midnight.’

‘In that case, it’s past your bedtime.’

‘I don’t know why you have to listen to this German music,’ she complained, fitting herself into one of the angular chairs on the other side of his desk and finding it wanting.

A gleam of amusement lit his face. ‘Bohemian, actually.’ Off her scowl, he clarified: ‘Mahler was born in Bohemia. Like you. He wasn’t German.’

‘Well…’ One hand waved. ‘It is German style. And that’s just as bad.’

Richard shook his head slightly, a smile of affection tugging at his lips.

Maria’s eyes wandered over his face. They had celebrated his victory. A large happy party of old friends, and Richard had seemed as he always was: expansive, gregarious, upbeat. But to anyone who knew him, really knew him, it hadn’t quite rung true.

‘Why are you sitting here brooding?’

‘I am not brooding.’

‘You are not yourself. Sonia noticed – she said you are moping.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Sonia exaggerates.’

‘Sonia is very perceptive.’

Richard blew out a breath, reached for the cigar he had lit some time ago. It had extinguished itself and he frowned at it, searched around the desktop for a lighter.

‘What have you been doing in here?’

‘Thinking,’ he said, between puffs.

‘What about?’

‘Crop rotation.’

Maria threw up her hands in despair.

Richard watched her through curls of smoke and smiled. ‘Actually, I was thinking about ringing Grantleigh.’

Her face became radiant. ‘Ah! Audrey!’

He sighed. ‘You know, you talk about Audrey the same way you do about the Queen and the Virgin Mary.’

Maria tilted her head back, regarding her son with a loftiness that would have been the envy of any dowager duchess. ‘There are some women who are beyond reproach.’

Richard choked slightly on his cigar, coughed. ‘There’s plenty to reproach Audrey for, believe me.’

‘But there are lots of other things she has done for you,’ she said, her tone insinuating.

You don’t know the half of it, he thought. And remembered, again, her face that day at Peregrine’s Folly – and a thousand other times. He pushed them all away but she still kept invading his thoughts, a constant, distracting presence by day and a tortuous one by night. ‘It wasn’t Audrey I was thinking of calling, it was Hawkins.’

‘Hawkins? Who is she?’ Maria demanded.

Richard’s face creased with laughter. ‘He! Hawkins from the estate office. I was wondering about the top field and if it’s worth draining it, or should it be left fallow. But it’s none of my concern anymore, and I realised I was very close to doing what Audrey did and carry on trying to exert my authority where it’s no longer wanted.’

‘Ring Audrey,’ Maria said promptly. ‘Talk to her about it. She’ll be glad of your advice.’

He smiled wryly; in his experience, Audrey rarely followed advice when she had asked for it, let alone when she hadn’t.

‘Mother, Audrey has her own life – I think we should leave her to get on with it, don’t you?’

‘We are part of her life!’ she protested. She could see the set lines of his face through the softly climbing cigar smoke. Stubborn. She didn’t know where he got it from.

‘You enjoyed living in the country, didn’t you?’ he enquired suddenly.

Her eyes narrowed and she watched him cautiously. It had happened too many times before: it always appeared simple, but then you found that he’d asked a different question to the one you thought you’d answered. ‘I enjoyed living at Grantleigh,’ she pronounced.

He smiled, acknowledging the point.

‘Are you thinking of moving us back to the country?’

‘Possibly.’

She pulled in a triumphant breath. ‘Ask Audrey’s advice. She loves giving advice. You can talk to her on Friday.’

He glanced at her sharply. ‘Why Friday?’

‘It is the party.’

‘Oh… Oh, yes, that.’ He busied himself with some of the papers on his desk. ‘I won’t be going.’

She hadn’t heard him right. But she replayed his last words in her head and realised that she had. ‘Not going? But you have to – she is expecting us!’

Richard sighed. He had closed himself off, removing himself from the conversation and she really hated it when he did that.

‘There’s nothing stopping you from going, but I won’t be- What are you doing?’

She scrabbled around the objects on top of his desk. ‘I am looking for something to throw at your head!’

He removed the heavy paperweight from her grasp. ‘I don’t think you’d like prison – especially not at your age.’ He replaced the paperweight, well out of her reach.

Maria sat back in her chair and stamped her foot. ‘Bedrich! You must go. I told Audrey that we will be there.’

‘Then you can tell her that we won’t. Or I won’t. You go: see Ferdy, have a wonderful time.’

Her hands balled into fists. It had been slightly easier when he was still a child and small enough to spank, but he had been just as intransigent then. ‘Audrey will be very disappointed.’

‘Mother…’ He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was gentle and heavy. ‘There’s no point. I don’t have anything that she wants. Not anymore.’

‘No,’ Maria nodded wisely. ‘You don’t _have_ anything she wants.’

‘That is literally what I just said.’

Maria pressed her lips together. For a man as clever as Bedrich was supposed to be, he could be incredibly stupid at times. ‘There is a saying in old Czechoslovakia.’

Richard took a long draw on his cigar, pulling in the smoke until it seared his lungs and the aroma filled his head. He let out the breath. ‘Go on.’

Maria lifted her chin and looked at him down her eyes. ‘This is one that you have to work out for yourself.’

She pushed herself up from her chair and its unyielding lines.

Richard watched her, bemused. ‘Is that the saying?’

She marched herself away.

‘Makes even less sense than usual,’ he remarked to the empty room.


	28. Friday on my Mind

_28\. Friday on my Mind_

 

The study door closed with a discreet click and Audrey sat in contemplation for a few moments.

Of all the things that Richard could have asked of her after the auction had gone through, she had not expected that the one favour be that she retain Jack Spalding as farm manager. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t refuse but she had never really taken to the man. A little too abrasive, she thought. Too full of himself.

She might, she conceded – if only to herself – have been mistaken. He had asked for a few moments of her time in his capacity as scout master.

‘It’s the winter jamboree,’ he said, an apologetic smile aimed at her. ‘I was hoping we could still hold it here, if that’s okay.’

Her eyebrows had raised in surprise. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘Great! Thanks. I don’t know what we’d have done- But that’s great.’

It was nice of him to have asked, she thought. And recalled an early conversation with Richard, when she had burst into this very room, full of haughty indignation, demanding to know why he had turned away the gymkhana. They hadn’t asked, he had said, they had told him. A perfectly reasonable position but she hadn’t been interested in reasonable. Not then.

Jack Spalding, over the past few days, had also emerged as something of a reasonable person. He had proved popular with the local scouts and had, apparently, achieved an even greater measure of popularity as the star player of the pub darts team.

Audrey dropped the pen onto the desk, stood, prowled about the room. It felt a little strange to be in there. Almost like an invasion. Which made no sense, considering that she had had no compunction about marching in at any hour, demanding his time and his attention, even rearranging his furniture when given half the chance. Now that the manor was hers again, it felt like she was going behind his back.

Her own feelings lately had become unfathomable, even to herself.

But the study was a very convenient place to organise a party from, especially with the added phone lines. And the big leather chair was wonderfully comfortable, even if its contours had moulded themselves to a much larger frame than hers. The safe still stood empty and every now and then she would look at it, and think that she really should have taken the opportunity to see it stuffed full of money while she had the chance.

But the chance might come again.

Audrey resumed her seat just as the door pushed open and Brabinger brought in her afternoon coffee.

‘Thank you, Brabinger. How are things?’

‘Coming along nicely, Madam. It will be a wonderful party.’

‘Yes… Yes, it has to be perfect,’ Audrey murmured, checking over her lists.

‘You’d think she’d never held a party before,’ Mrs Beecham had told him, and the cook’s harassed expression told of patience that was wearing thin. Everything had been discussed, checked, queried and discussed again. Friday, in the opinion of the staff, could not come quickly enough.

Brabinger twitched at the curtains, tidied a pile of magazines, and then stationed himself at Audrey’s shoulder while he poured the coffee. He watched the pen strokes across the pad and cleared his throat softly.

‘If I may, Madam – an Irish whiskey, rather than Scotch.’

She twisted around slightly in her chair and looked up at him. ‘Irish?’

‘Yes, Madam. I believe it to be Mister DeVere’s preference.’

Her gaze was immediately fixed back on her list. ‘Well, we do want Rich- Our guests to feel at home.’ Brabinger suppressed the smile that twitched at his lips. A pause and then she added airily, ‘I don’t suppose you know which…?’

‘Bushmills, Madam.’

She wrote it down.

‘And I suppose we should get in cigars. For the gentlemen. Do you-’ Audrey cleared her throat. ‘Do you know a decent brand, Brabinger?’

‘A Punch Punch Claro.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes, Madam.’

Audrey fiddled with the pen and the sheets of paper. ‘Well, I’ll leave this with you, Brabinger. You seem to know what’s required. And anything else that you think necessary.’

Brabinger took the list. ‘Very good, Madam.’

Friday, Audrey thought, taking her coffee and relishing its warmth. She just had to make it to Friday.


	29. What the Butler Saw

_29\. What the Butler Saw_

 

The party was a triumph. After all of the planning and the threats of industrial action from Mrs Beecham, it was clear from the start that it would be a joyous, memorable affair. Guests agreed that Audrey had lost none of her party-planning talents: if anything, they seemed enhanced.

Music spilled out, echoing into the hall and mingling with the laughter and chatter of old friends and new acquaintances. It was a hugely welcoming occasion and yet there was something almost of defiance in the show of hospitality. People who had not set foot in Grantleigh for three years, people who had abruptly forgotten about the former lady of the manor and just as abruptly remembered her when she reclaimed it, were greeted graciously but with a glint of sardonic amusement in her blue eyes.

She was looking wonderful that night: the expensive cut of her new dress showed off her figure to advantage and the colour enhanced her eyes and the dark golden gleam of her hair.

The steady flow of guests arriving had slowed. And as the evening had progressed, Audrey’s chin had lifted a little higher, the line of her shoulders tightening.

She had been positioned, as was customary, on the staircase and as hostess had been all charm and warmth to the arrivals. But her eyes kept moving to the door, and each time a figure that looked familiar, that looked like it _could_ be appeared, Brabinger could see the slight intake of breath, the smile starting to appear that she had only ever worn for _him_ … and then fade again.

‘Brabinger. I need to- I’ll be down in a few minutes.’

Brabinger murmured a response, watched her make her way up the stairs. He knew what she would be doing. The telephone in the privacy of her bedroom, and she would call a number in Mayfair. And there would be no answer, just like there hadn’t been when he had done the same thing from his pantry twenty minutes before.

After all of this, he wasn’t coming. Brabinger felt a combination of disbelief and anger. Surely he wasn’t just going to abandon her like this? Brabinger had come to hold Richard DeVere in the very highest esteem and couldn’t reconcile the idea that after three years and everything they had been through, the man was going to let her go without so much as a fight. As if there were need for a fight; she was right there, waiting.

A silhouette in the doorway and Brabinger felt his own breath catch and-

Richard DeVere greeted him warmly, but his eyes moved restlessly, scanning the crowds with impatience when he didn’t see the one person he wanted to.

She must have seen him arrive, probably watching from the landing above, because almost as soon as Brabinger had spoken he saw the change in Richard’s face. And when Audrey walked back down the stairs to him, she was transformed.

They made for a striking image, meeting on the staircase and despite the noise and the chatter they seemed to be in isolation.

Brabinger allowed himself an undisguised smile as he made his way towards the band with instructions for the tune that had to be played now. Irving Berlin. A sweet, romantic number. He glanced back, the two heads close together but not quite touching.

Now was this year; and now had finally arrived.


	30. At Long Last Love

_30\. At Long Last Love_

 

In the end it had been very simple. He had given her the opening without even realising and the words had slipped from her mouth without a thought. And in the chill moonlight, outside of the chapel and on the ground that they both loved so much, it was settled.

They walked back to the manor arm in arm and they had walked like that before but not quite the way they did now. Audrey leaned into him and he held her closer, his head angling towards hers. They said very little on that walk. It was enough, being together. Not feeling the need to hide anything.

It was a wonderful party and Audrey was glad that everyone was having a wonderful time – but she also wished that they would all go away. Why had she invited so many people? It was a welcome home party and she had thought of it, when she was planning it, as being as much for Richard as for herself. And if it became an engagement party, so much the better. But with the nagging thought that he might not come, it was also somewhere to hide while plotting her next move.

But now that they had reached, at last, this longed-for moment, she wanted him to herself.

Happiness, however, made her mellow, more kindly disposed; or maybe it was just that she didn’t really notice much outside of the man at her side. She was even prepared to tolerate the occasional party-crasher – until that double-barrelled excrescence had been quite so obnoxious. Both he and his braying girlfriend were firmly ejected by Hawkins and Spalding (an unlikely double-act, Audrey thought, but an effective one) and the following half hour or so was a blur of congratulations.

‘Took your damn time about it,’ the Brigadier said, wringing Richard’s hand. ‘Lost twenty pounds to Willy on it already – had my money on you asking her last Christmas.’

‘It’s wonderful, Aud,’ Marjory said, her face flushed pink, eyes shining. ‘I’m so happy for you!’ And then she cried all over Audrey’s shoulder – cried even harder on Richard’s while he patted her on the back awkwardly. It was a relief to hand her over to Maria, who had also cried all over both of them, and who had offered a series of old Czechoslovakian sayings so incoherent that even Richard gave up trying to translate them.

Toasts were made, more champagne was opened and it felt wonderfully liberating to be so happy and allow herself to show it. Audrey had never been a particularly demonstrative person, but in less than an hour she had become someone who couldn’t stop herself from reaching for him, touching him, standing close enough that she could feel his warmth.

A lull came, and Audrey felt his fingers lace through hers, a tug on her hand and she followed him wordlessly. Through corridors, deeper into the house, away from the chatter and the curious eyes. They both knew the manor well enough to be acquainted with its secret places – or at least the ones where they could have some peace for a little while.

Richard pushed open a door and they were in a room lit by banked-down firelight and one lamp on a low table. They faced each other. Richard raised a hand, his fingers following the line of her cheek; Audrey’s eyes closed momentarily and she leaned into his touch. His hand slid up into her hair, cradling the back of her head, the other resting on her waist, fingertips pressing lightly into her flesh. Her own hands rested on his chest and she could feel its rise and fall under her palms. His face now so close to hers that she could feel his breath against her skin and she angled her head towards him.

A jolt as his lips, finally, touched hers. Her fingers curled around the silk lapels, fabric pulled taut.

It was a tender kiss, gentle. They got used to the feel of each other, to lines and contours that fit together. Barely inches between them when they pulled apart. There was something dark in the depths of his eyes, a dangerous glitter. Audrey slid her arms around his neck in the same moment that his fingers twisted through her hair and there was nothing gentle now. Her lips parted under his and he plundered her mouth. She clung to him fiercely, her hands grasping his shoulders, feeling the strength of them, the movement of muscle and bone beneath his layers of barathea and silk.

Warmth pulsed through her, nerve endings tingling as joy and pleasure unspooled themselves, twined together, filled her head. Nothing in the world mattered, all of the things that she thought so important were turned to dust; she didn’t care if Grantleigh fell about her ears, just as long as she had him in her arms.

Audrey laughed at that final thought.

‘What? What is it?’

‘Nothing.’ Breathless. She was trembling. ‘Nothing. I love you.’

She needed the taste of him, needed to be closer to him, needed to have him in every conceivable way and his hands roaming her body told her that he meant to take complete possession of her. Audrey tugged at the buttons of his jacket until she could slip her arms around him under it, her hands following the lines of his back. Her head tilted back as his lips found a trail along her throat, gasped aloud when his teeth grazed the wildly throbbing pulse.

It was overwhelming, and she needed more.

‘Audrey! Bedrich!’

They broke apart, an unpleasant awakening from a very pleasant dream.

‘Mother!’ Richard took a steadying breath and then another. ‘A little privacy, please!’

She waved a dismissive hand. ‘There is time for all of that later. You have guests! The rector wants to talk to you about dates and there is so much to arrange...’

Audrey loved Mrs Poo, but at that moment she could quite cheerfully have tied weights to her ankles and drowned her in the lake.

Richard smoothed down his hair, re-buttoned his jacket and offered her a look of apology. Audrey smiled in response. Her lips felt like they’d been branded.

Maria placed herself in between them and smiled happily up at her son. ‘You see! It has all worked out. You sold the manor, so now Audrey can marry you.’

Richard started to take her arm. ‘Ye- Wait, what?’ He stared at her as the meaning of her words took hold. ‘You knew?’

Maria shrugged. ‘Audrey told me she would not marry you while you had the manor.’

‘When?’

‘Before the auction.’

He was wordless, emotions chasing each other across his face. When he did speak, his voice was strangled. ‘And you didn’t think to tell me this?’

Maria threw up her hands. ‘You never listen! I told you – you had to work this out yourself. But you see what happens when you do listen to me: “Go to the party” I said, “Ask Audrey to marry you” I said.’ She beamed proudly.

Richard still stared at her for a moment and then his eyes gleamed; he pulled his mother’s arm through his. ‘Actually, I didn’t ask Audrey – she asked me.’

‘Bedrich!’ Maria was outraged.

‘And I didn’t even get a ring,’ he added.

‘Oh!’ She struck him on the arm.

‘It’s all right, Mrs Poo,’ Audrey said, taking her other arm. ‘I’ll make an honest man of him.’

‘I’ve done my best to bring him up…’ Maria grumbled.

Richard’s shoulders were shaking slightly and Audrey wasn’t sure if it was genuine amusement or a sort of mild hysteria.

‘I’m sure your idea of a proposal would be something much grander,’ Audrey told him. ‘Something involving that flying contraption of yours and the top of the Eiffel Tower.’

‘That’s-’ His face changed. ‘That’s a wonderful idea! I-’

‘Richard!’ Audrey got hold of his arm, caught between laughter and incredulity. ‘It’s very romantic and very flattering, but I don’t need all of that! I have what I need already. I have you.’

Further down the corridor, Maria realised that she had lost both of them already and had been talking to herself for the last few moments. She turned around, ready to summon them and then smiled at the embracing couple who were so clearly lost in one another.

She would give them five minutes. Or maybe ten.


	31. Later (almost)

_31\. Later (almost)_

 

 

The party had largely broken up with only the stragglers – there were always stragglers – remaining. Audrey decided to leave them to it and wandered towards the drawing room, Richard’s arm around her shoulders.

‘I suppose I should find Mother and get her back to the hotel,’ Richard said reluctantly, regret colouring his tone.

‘Oh, she went to bed ages ago.’

‘Where?’

‘In her room,’ Audrey replied, as though it were the most obvious thing.

‘Her room?’

Audrey shrugged. ‘It’s still hers.’

It had been on his mind as something they would have to talk about. After all of their battles – sometimes when it had felt as though they were fighting just for the sake of having something to fight about – Audrey’s complete acceptance of him, his life, and his mother, was taking a little adjustment.

On the threshold they stopped, Richard moved back to let her pass but not before capturing her lips with his. He studied her for a moment. ‘Astonishing.’

‘What is?’

‘You.’

Her fingers brushed against his face for a moment, then her arm curled about his neck as their lips met again. Sweet, heady moments and then Audrey let out a breath of laughter.

Richard held her away from him and looked at her severely. ‘Is that going to happen every time I kiss you?’

Audrey’s cheeks flushed, her eyes dancing. ‘I’m sorry. It isn’t you, it really isn’t. I… I just remembered something I said to Marjory once.’

‘As fond as I am of Marjory, she’s not really the woman I want on my mind at the moment. But let’s hear it – what did you say?’

She hesitated and then said quickly: ‘That you looked like you’d stepped out of a Barbara Cartland novel.’

The expression on his face was one of pure horror. ‘Barbara Cartland?! Isn’t she the incredibly pink one?’

‘She might be very pink, but her heroes aren’t. They’re all tall, dark and handsome.’

He grinned at that. ‘Handsome, eh?’

Audrey rolled her eyes. ‘You know perfectly well that you are.’

Richard considered this, head tilted slightly. ‘I’ve never really thought of myself that way.’

‘If you’re fishing for compliments, forget it. You’re quite conceited enough as it is.’

‘I’m not at all,’ he said seriously. ‘In fact, I am quite the most humble person I know.’

‘You really do talk nonsense.’

His laughter followed her into the drawing room. There was a chill on the air and Audrey shivered; her dress was certainly lovely and deserving of the admiration it had drawn, but it wasn’t exactly warm. She crossed over to the fire and prodded it with the poker.

‘Here, let me do that,’ Richard took the poker from her hands, added another log as the flames built up and caught. She watched the play of firelight across his features, the glow dancing across his skin. He straightened, brushed off his hands and then looked at her, considering, one arm leaning against the mantelpiece.

‘You know, I understand why Mother didn’t say anything, but I don’t understand why you didn’t.’

Audrey wrapped her arms around herself, holding onto the warmth. ‘It didn’t come up. You never asked me.’

‘Well…’ For a moment his eyes left hers, wandered about the room. ‘It was never the right time. We always got interrupted.’

So many times when it had seemed so close: moments when the world could have changed in the duration of a breath, a heartbeat.

She shook her head. ‘That’s just an excuse. If you had really wanted to that badly, you would have done it.’

A pause and then Richard blew out a breath. ‘I suppose I wanted to be sure,’ he said softly.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, a sadness there despite her happiness. The days and nights of agony she had spent, worrying at it, but always coming back to the one immutable fact.

‘And that’s why. I probably would have married you just to get Grantleigh back, in the beginning. But not now, not for a long time. But you could never have been sure that it was you I wanted. Not really sure. And there isn’t anything I could have done to change that.’

He reached for her. ‘I can think of quite a few things you could have done.’

Laughing, Audrey evaded his grasp. ‘Mrs Poo was right, there is plenty of time for that later.’

Richard sighed, ran one hand through his hair. ‘Just so we’re clear, how much later _is_ later?’

‘I see I’m going to have my hands full with you,’ Audrey said, trying to sound severe and failing utterly.

‘There’s one way to find out,’ he offered.

‘Richard!’ She had to keep her distance. It was difficult enough as it was stopping herself from going to his arms – being closer to him would make it impossible. And there was so much she needed to tell him. ‘There are just some things we need to get clear first.’

He held up his hands in surrender. ‘All right.’ Creamy skin gleaming gold in the firelight, the fluid lines of her dress clinging to her figure as she moved and her eyes glowing with promise – she was irresistible. But he had waited for her this long; he could wait a little longer.

‘Drink?’

She nodded. ‘I’ll have what you’re having.’

Ice dropped into two glasses. Audrey eased the shoes off her aching feet, curled up onto the sofa. ‘What were you planning on doing? Once you’d chucked the business.’

‘Ah…’ He poured amber liquid from a decanter. ‘Do you remember asking once if there was something I had wanted to be?’

‘And you said a train driver.’

‘And I still stand by that.’ He flashed her a smile and carried the two glasses across to her, handing her one. ‘The truth is, I didn’t really have an answer. I worked to make money because that was a way out. It meant safety, freedom.’

‘Didn’t you enjoy building up Cavendish?’

He sat in the armchair opposite her, took a sip of his drink. Recognising the taste, he looked at the glass, at her, and smiled slightly. ‘Yes, in a way. Business came fairly easily to me and I was good at it. And of course I’m proud of what I built, but I don’t think anyone ever woke up one morning and thought, “I really want to be the head of a supermarket chain”.’

‘You still haven’t answered the question.’ The whiskey was sweet and mellow, its smoothness filling her mouth.

‘I’m getting there. My God, you’re impatient.’

‘I am not!’

His eyes gleamed at her over the rim of his glass. ‘It changed when I came here. It took some time to get used to, and I’m not sure that I have entirely, yet, but I found something that I actually wanted to do, not just something that was a means to an end. So, that was the plan - I was going to buy a farm.’

Audrey sat very still, studying him. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but that wasn’t it. ‘Where were you thinking of going?’

His eyes crinkled. ‘Somerset. I was rather hoping for a place with a lovely lady neighbour I could lure out of her manor from time to time.’

It was ridiculous, Audrey thought, taking another sip of her drink and trying to force it past the sudden tightening in her throat. But the knowledge that he had not been going to give up on her brought a painful twist of joy. When she trusted her voice to stay steady she said, ‘Lucky for you, I’ve just bought a place with farmland and a whole lot of new farming equipment.’

‘Very lucky,’ he agreed.

Audrey narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Are you marrying me just to get the manor back?’

‘Damn. You worked it out.’

They shared a smile. And then Audrey dropped her gaze, studying the way the ice clinked against the sides of her glass. ‘Will it be enough?’

Another, unspoken, question behind that one.

He frowned. ‘What?’

‘This. After all the cut and thrust of business… Grantleigh isn’t like that.’

‘I know. It’s worse.’

‘I- What?!’

‘Sacking half my board of directors is nothing compared to going ten rounds with the parish council over whether or not the grass in the graveyard should be cut weekly or fortnightly.’

‘Richard, be serious.’

‘I am! Have they settled that one yet, by the way?’

‘No, apparently it’s on the agenda for next week. Again.’

He shook his head. ‘Anyway. This is the life I want, something that feels more … real … than the business world. I don’t really know how to explain it, but being at Grantleigh became my life, not just something that I did. I think I really realised it watching Ned planting new saplings up by Peregrine’s Folly.’

Audrey smiled softly. ‘DeVere Wood.’

He looked at her in surprise. ‘He told you about that?’

‘He’s very keen on the name, so that’s what it’s called now. He thinks very highly of you. So, you see, there will always be DeVeres at Grantleigh – even four hundred years from now.’

There was a long silence, broken by the crackle of wood eaten by flames, the steady tick of the clock and the occasional sound of ice against glass.

‘Ned’s right,’ Richard said eventually, ‘he doesn’t get paid enough.’ More long moments and then he said, ‘You know what the thing I was dreading most about coming this evening was?’

‘What?’

‘Watching you surrounded by a host of suitors.’

She laughed. ‘Of all the absurd things…’

‘Not at all. A beautiful, wealthy widow with all this’ -he gestured around the room- ‘they’d all come crawling out of the woodwork. I had visions of Sir Blue-blood Inbred-Imbecile whisking you off.’

‘You could at least credit me with more taste than that!’ She was indignant, eyes snapping. He shrugged in helpless apology. Audrey took a breath and more of her drink and said, ‘I didn’t want a host of suitors, anyway. Just the one. And if you hadn’t come tonight, I was quite prepared to hunt you down in London.’ She tossed the hair out of her eyes and stared at him defiantly. ‘How long will it take you to sell the business?’

‘Wha-’ Richard shook himself at the sudden change in tone. Life with this woman, he reflected, would never not be interesting. ‘I’m not sure… It isn’t quite so straightforward.’

‘Oh?’ She frowned. ‘Surely it’s just a case of selling to the highest bidder?’

He sighed. ‘That is one way, but it’s not necessarily the best way. Not for the company in the long term, that is.’

Her grip on her glass tightened and the coldness spread through her fingers. Once he was back in London, and sleepy Grantleigh might not seem quite so idyllic… ‘I thought you were giving all of that up?’

He smiled at her, his eyes soft. ‘I am. But sometimes the highest bidder for a company will want to maximise their profits from the company that they’ve just bought, so they restructure it quite radically. And that often leads to a lot of people losing their jobs.’

She nodded. ‘I understand.’

‘Some of these people have worked for Cavendish their whole lives, and jobs aren’t that easy to come by at the moment. I couldn’t do that to them, Audrey, I couldn’t live with myself-’

‘Richard, I understand,’ she said clearly. ‘When Grantleigh was sold, I was terribly worried about what would happen to the estate workers: I had visions of them being turfed out and their cottages being turned into holiday chalets. You have to look after your people.’

His eyes wandered over her face. ‘Oh, Audrey, I do love you.’

‘Good.’ Audrey picked at an invisible thread on her skirt. ‘I was starting to wonder. After all, I’ve told you that I love you. Quite a few times now, and you haven’t said anything. But I see how it’s going to be from now on – I have to ask for the smallest thing. But as I’ve done the proposing, and most of the confessing, the very least you could do now is the seducing.’

A moment and then Richard unfolded himself from his chair, a fluid movement, and walked around the table towards her. She felt everything in her tighten and release at the same time and thought that if this was the effect that he had on her before he had even touched her, she was in very big trouble.

He held out a hand to her, pulled her up from the sofa into his arms. Kisses dropped along her jawline, the hollow behind her ear. ‘Audrey.’ Her name was a soft murmur, a huskiness in his voice. ‘When I said there were some things you could do… Why don’t I show you instead?’


	32. Later

_32\. Later_

 

 

Audrey stretched languorously, her limbs heavy. She had dozed for a while, dreams and memory bleeding into each other and she felt cocooned in a blissful haze. Her body felt like it belonged to someone else, which in a way, she thought, it did. Just like he belonged to her.

Richard had had to leave early for a meeting in Taunton, arranged before he had any idea of how the night would turn out. But he had great incentives, he had told her, to get his business dealt with in record time.

Audrey could still feel him around her, catch his scent on her sheets and pillows. She was aching in places she hadn’t known it was possible to have an ache. A strange but oddly pleasant sensation.

A world of difference from the perfunctory and wholly unsatisfactory couplings she had endured with Marton. It had been a relief when they had stopped altogether. Audrey had privately thought that Marton’s technique – such as it was – had been gleaned from the observation of farmyard animals. If he had found other victims for his attentions, she had never cared to ask.

Tenderness and passion were not going to be part of her life and she had accepted that. Apart from the vicariously bought pleasure of romance novels, which seemed to be filled with heroes who could reduce their womenfolk to piles of quivering desire with just one touch. Not that anyone would actually do the things that people did in books, of course. But Audrey had often wondered what it would be like, even just once, to be with a man who knew what he was doing.

Glorious, as it turned out. Joyous.

Richard DeVere not only knew exactly what he was doing, he also did it extremely well. His flamboyant approach to life apparently translated into a complete lack of inhibitions in his lovemaking. No gentleman, she was sure, would have even thought of half the things he had done. Then again, no lady would have let him, never mind participate with quite so much enthusiasm.

And yet it was what had occurred in between that felt the most intimate. Conversation while still in a tangle of limbs and sheets, her head pillowed on his chest while he played with her hair.

His body really was as sleek and lean as she had imagined. Her fingers followed the contours along his chest, watched in fascination the fluttering of muscles beneath the skin at her touch.

‘In the spirit of full disclosure…’ His voice was a low rumble under her ear.

‘Mmm?’ An indistinct noise, her mouth following the path her fingers had taken.

‘That time when your back was out?’

Audrey sighed and propped herself up on one elbow, her other hand still investigating the definition of muscle in his shoulder and arm. ‘All right. It had cleared up a few days after it happened.’

‘I knew it!’ He looked triumphant. ‘Any excuse to see me.’

‘You’re the one who kept dropping by. I never asked you to.’

‘That was any excuse to see you, I never made any secret of that. What about the binoculars?’

‘Binoculars?’

‘Audrey…’

For a moment she held his gaze and then blew out a breath. ‘Well, it was just at first. I wanted to know what was happening to my home, and I didn’t know you then. Anyway, what about you?’

‘I have never spied on you in my life!’

Undeterred, and determined not to be the only wrong-doer, Audrey persevered. ‘Filling the place up with all sorts of women – like that flashy blonde that came with your helicopter.’

His eyes widened very slightly. ‘Linda?’

Audrey snorted in derision. ‘Oh, is that her name? I thought it would be something more fitting. Like Pussy Galore.’

Richard let out a shout of laughter, his arms closing around her waist. ‘Funny you should bring her into it: they do have some things in common.’

Audrey sucked in a breath. ‘You mean she’s a criminal?’

He shook with silent laughter; and when he could trust himself to speak, Richard said: ‘No, I mean that I am not her type when it comes to a romantic partner.’

‘Oh?’ Audrey tried to imagine the woman for whom Richard would not be the type. Even when he was being infuriating, he was just so… She raked her nails lightly across his chest, watched his intake of breath.

‘Let’s just say that I lack certain, er, attributes that she would look for. Or that I have one attribute that she definitely doesn’t look for.’

A healthy frown was building across Audrey’s face and then suddenly cleared. ‘You mean she’s…’

He nodded.

‘When did you find out?’

He appeared vastly amused. ‘When I met her.’

‘But- But how did you...?’

‘It was obvious. Especially as I met her girlfriend at the same time.’

‘Her girlfriend?!’

‘Yes, she’s very nice. They run the flying school together.’

Audrey glared at him. ‘And you let me think that you were carrying on some torrid passion with her!’

‘I didn’t know you thought anything of the sort! I didn’t even know you’d seen her.’

‘Well, I know so little of your life,’ Audrey grumbled. ‘You could have been running around London simply festooned with hussies.’

He blinked. ‘I wouldn’t thank you for a hussy if you presented me one on a silver platter. Hussies aren’t quite my line.’

‘And what is your line?’

‘Haughty ladies of the manor with determined minds.’ His hands were tracing the lines of her back, fingertips dancing across her rib cage.

‘I am not haughty,’ Audrey replied, haughtily.

‘Of course not.’

‘I- Stop that.’

He removed his hands from her person.

‘Now what are you doing?’

‘You said to stop.’

‘I didn’t mean it,’ she said, exasperated.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you never say things you don’t mean.’

‘Oh, you really are the most infuriating, conceited-’ Her words cut off in a squeal as he grabbed her. She was sure that she hadn’t giggled since she was a schoolgirl, but she did, now, when she was pinned under him and she reached up to stroke his face, revelling in his textures of smooth skin and satin-rough hair.

‘Darling.’ His eyes glinted darkly, fingers drawing patterns on the smooth plane of skin below her collar bones. ‘Have I made it clear just how much I adore you?’

Affirmation rose to her lips; she pushed it back down. ‘Uh… You could be a bit clearer.’

The glint turned to flame. ‘Right…’

Audrey sighed, nerve endings beneath her skin tingling at the memory of his hands, his mouth, on her.

Time to get up.

She could hear the sounds of the house stirring around her. After the party it would be a slower start, a later morning, but there were still standards to maintain. Ordinarily she would dress before breakfast, but as Mrs Poo’s belongings were still at the hotel, it would be dressing-gowns at the table.

Audrey located her nightgown and robe and noted with some amusement that while he was dressing, Richard had retrieved her clothes from the floor and left them neatly folded on a chair.

There were twinges in the oddest places.

Audrey ran a brush through her hair and made her way down to the breakfast room as the gong sounded. Maria Polouvicka was already at the table and she held out her hands as Audrey entered.

‘Audrey!’ she cried joyfully. ‘Good morning.’

Audrey returned the greeting, bent down to deposit a kiss on her cheek and for a moment the older woman took Audrey’s face between her hands. ‘Did you sleep well, my dear?’

‘Oh. Yes.’ Assailed by memories that had no place at the breakfast table, Audrey took her seat and refuge behind a copy of the _Daily_ _Telegraph_. It was all very well for Richard sloping off to Taunton, she thought in irritation. She would never be able to look her future mother-in-law in the eye again.

Maria watched Audrey indulgently. The younger woman’s radiance was testament that everything had been settled satisfactorily between the pair. It had all been different in her day, of course, but after they had waited for so long, she couldn’t disapprove of anything that made them happy.

Brabinger’s discreet cough inserted itself. ‘Excuse me, Madam.’ He addressed himself to Maria. ‘Mr Wiśniewski is on the telephone for you.’

She let out a little squeak and fluttered away from the table.

Audrey lowered her newspaper with some relief. Brabinger poured out her tea. ‘If I might enquire, Madam: do we know when we can expect Mister DeVere to come home?’

‘Soon.’ Audrey smiled up at him. ‘Very soon.’


	33. London Calling: Part One

_33\. London Calling: Part One_

 

 

By Saturday lunchtime, the village and its environs were ablaze with the news. There were some outlandish stories about how the proposal had occurred – _‘Down on one knee in front of the whole party’_ \- which became increasingly embellished with each retelling – _‘Fireworks spelled out “Will you marry me?”!’_

Stopping at the pub for a lunchtime pint, Jack Spalding found himself the subject of a grilling. Out of loyalty to both his former employer and his current one (not to mention the fact that they were to be jointly his future employers), Jack confirmed that the couple were engaged and said no more.

Joe Henderson, the publican, had watched this beadily and had later declared to his wife and daughter that Jack might be a townie, but wasn’t too bad.

The village was largely split between those who stated they had always known there was more to that relationship and it was about time they sorted themselves out; others who swore blind that a passionate affair had begun as soon as Mr DeVere had arrived in Grantleigh (and it was about time they sorted themselves out); and a small, imperceptive group who thought they were sworn enemies and had far too much fun fighting to ever sort themselves out. They were all united, however, in the opinion that the pair were perfectly suited, and wished them well.

By Sunday, Audrey and Richard presented themselves at church, the very models of respectability. The rector, delighted to have his favourite parishioner back in their midst (and still financially viable) asked if Richard would read the second lesson.

The Brigadier, who had been due to fill the role, happily relinquished the task. ‘Public speaking – not really my strong point. Not like cricket.’

Richard couldn’t help but think that the rector’s choice of lesson was, possibly, a little preemptive – but it was meant well. And so he dutifully delivered St Paul’s Letter to the Corinthians, having to increasingly raise his voice in order to drown out the accompanying chorus of sniffles provided by his mother and Marjory.

Audrey listened with apparent rapt attention, which would have been very flattering except for the fact that he could tell she was biting the inside of her cheek in the effort not to laugh.

Richard finished the reading, glared at his fiancée and took his seat.

The service was notably better attended than usual and a few small knots of people lingered on the lawn outside the church when it was over. All of them were involved in whispered conversations that were interspersed with glances over at the couple that were evidently supposed to be discreet, but weren’t.

‘You’d think they’d never seen anybody engaged before,’ Audrey said, fixing a withering eye on them.

‘We could always elope,’ Richard said, not entirely joking.

‘This isn’t a Regency romance; no-one runs off to Gretna Green anymore.’

‘I’m willing to test that theory,’ Richard said. It was like standing under a microscope. A gossipy microscope.

Audrey was allowing herself the indulgence of a daydream. Being thrown across his saddlebow, a midnight gallop for the Scottish border, his cape billowing behind them…

‘Audrey?’

She started. Richard was observing her, one eyebrow raised quizzically and she was sure that he knew what she had been thinking. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks.

‘I need a word with the flower arrangers,’ she said with dignity. ‘Thistles have no place in the Church of England.’

He watched her head toward the unfortunate flower arrangers, shaking his head slightly. In her prim tweed suit, hat, gloves, and with her missal tucked under one arm, Audrey was the picture of propriety. No hint of the volcanic passions lurking beneath that serene exterior. That he was in the unique position of witnessing that most private part of her was something he valued beyond measure.

Her first marriage had been deeply unhappy. Her second, he was determined, would bring her all the happiness she deserved.

Richard, innocently enjoying himself by watching Audrey carry out her self-imposed duties, was oblivious to the fact that by doing, well, nothing, he was providing fodder for the local gossips.

_‘The way he looks at her! Made me blush. I didn’t know where to look…’_

‘There is a saying in old Czechoslovakia,’ Mrs Polouvicka intoned as they were leaving, regarding the groups of onlookers with contempt. ‘Those who burn out their eyes in public are blind at home.’

Audrey looked enquiringly at Richard over the top of Maria’s head. ‘Does-’

‘She make them up as she goes along? Probably.’

‘I heard that,’ Maria said, affronted.

‘Good, maybe it will stop you.’

By Monday, Richard was back in London. It was a parting that both tried to make light of, but both felt keenly.

‘I’m fighting the urge to make this the fastest sale on record,’ he told Audrey, his arm about her shoulders as they descended the stone stairs of the manor’s main entrance.

‘What about your conscience?’

‘Stupid conscience,’ he grumbled.

Audrey leaned into him, reaching up to brush her lips against his. She had snaked her arm around his waist and it felt wonderful, natural, to be able to enjoy the embrace without creating excuses to enable one.

‘You probably won’t miss us at all,’ she said.

‘Don’t you believe it.’

They reached the gravel. Audrey turned, put both her arms around him. ‘All of those meetings and the heady London whirl. Just don’t go running off with the first hussy you meet.’

‘I promise,’ he said solemnly. ‘As long as you don’t shack up with Lord Chinless Wonder as soon as my back is turned.’

‘I think I can just about manage not to.’

His eyebrows raised. ‘Extraordinary. I was waiting for you to object to the term “shack up”.’

‘Oh, I do, but I was saving it up until you get back.’

‘That’s my Audrey,’ he said, and kissed her thoroughly.

The week was torture. Waiting to see if he would appear at the party was bad enough; somehow, waiting for him to return so that they could pick up where they had left off was worse.

Audrey occupied herself with estate business – between Hawkins and Spalding and the plans they had worked out with Richard, there was not much for her to do, but they didn’t have to know that – long conversations with Marjory where she revealed just enough (but not too much) to keep her friend pinkly envious, and equally long but very different conversations with Maria.

Maria Polouvicka was in her element. With the much longed for wedding finally on the horizon, and being back in the place she had most felt at home since ’39 (so she said), it was only Richard’s absence that stopped it from being the best of weeks.

So it was with some surprise on the Friday morning that she found Audrey in the library with a despondent air.

‘He’s not coming,’ Audrey said colourlessly.

Meetings were over running. He would try on Saturday, but would have to leave on Sunday for early meetings on Monday.

Maria listened, observing the way Audrey still held herself as straight as a soldier and the disappointment in her eyes, and then shrugged. ‘Why don’t you go to London?’

‘I..’

‘Catch the next train. I will telephone Bedrich and tell him to expect you.’ She paused. ‘Grantleigh will still be here when you get back.’

There were, she told herself, a thousand reasons to keep her in Grantleigh. There was one monumental reason to go to London, and he trumped everything else.

By the time Audrey had packed, dressed and made her way back down to the main hall, Maria was waiting for her.

‘You are to take a taxi to this address,’ she said, handing Audrey a slip of paper with an address in Lime Street. ‘It is Bedrich’s office.’

‘He’s all right with my coming?’ Audrey asked, buttoning her glove at the wrist.

‘But of course!’ Maria looked at her as though she had asked the most ridiculous question. ‘He is delighted. He would have asked you to come, but he thought you were too busy.’

That’s where being nonchalant gets you, Audrey thought. ‘Will you be all right? I don’t really like leaving you alone on your first weekend back.’

Maria held up her hands. ‘I have so much to do! Go, enjoy yourself.’

She waved Audrey off, and when the Rolls had disappeared around the bend in the driveway she went back into the manor with a sigh of satisfaction. Having allowed herself a few moments of self-congratulation for her quick-thinking, Maria turned her thoughts to what her own plans for the weekend could be. There were, after all, many old friends in Grantleigh and Marlbury that she hadn’t properly caught up with yet. She made her way to the telephone in the hallway and dialled a number.

‘Hello, Ferdy?’

 

*****

 

The London office of Cavendish Foods was located in one of the hulking grey concrete monstrosities that littered the City of London, and served as a reminder to Audrey about why she had never particularly cared for the capital. London was all right for the shopping and the occasional trip to the theatre, but she would sooner have the country any day.

A receptionist wearing a noticeable quantity of blue eyeshadow directed her towards the lift bank and the eighth floor and Audrey stepped out into an alien world. There was an air of controlled activity. Telephones ringing, people moving about. Everyone in suits and wearing determined expressions. It was all so very … corporate.

And for a moment Audrey wondered again if he would really be happy giving all of this up. And then she remembered the expression in his eyes when he had talked about the realness of Grantleigh, about the life that he wanted. And she remembered that night, so long ago now, when he had dragged her into the woods to see the badgers and his evident delight in them; the way he had taken up bird-watching under Marjory’s guidance; all the trouble he had gone to to protect the bee eater.

The metallic rush around her was stimulating, even exciting, but she could understand how he could walk away from it. They would build something entirely different together.

Grasping the handles of her overnight bag, Audrey approached the reception desk and was greeted by the beady eyes of a woman of indeterminate age, but who looked like the walking definition of efficient.

She also reminded Audrey forcibly of her old headmistress and felt as though she were about to be checked over to make sure that her nails were clean and her skirt wasn’t too short.

‘Can I help you?’

‘I’m here to see Mister DeVere – I’m Audrey fforbes-Hamilton.’

The change was immediate. A smile transformed the somewhat forbidding features. ‘Ah, Mrs fforbes-Hamilton! We’ve been expecting you.’ She stood, gestured towards the inner recesses of the office space. ‘I’m Joan Goodwin. Mister DeVere sends his apologies that he can’t meet you himself, but everything has been taken care of for your arrival.’

‘Thank you.’

Joan Goodwin scrutinised Audrey approvingly. Since the news of Mr DeVere’s engagement had broken, there had been furious speculation about what his fiancée would be like. The girls who had arrived from his Somerset office and knew Audrey fforbes-Hamilton well lorded it over those who had never heard of her. Joan noted the well-tailored suit that was not cutting-edge fashion, but chic; the air of breeding; and the unflashy but undeniable good looks. Yes, she would do very well for Mr DeVere.

‘One of the girls will look after you. Sally!’ She beckoned imperiously and a young woman hurried over, smiling broadly.

‘Hello, Mrs fforbes!’

Audrey looked at her more closely and her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Sally?’

Of course. Sally Henderson, the publican’s pretty daughter, had been one of the girls in the secretarial pool up at the manor. Audrey remembered her as a quietly-spoken girl who helped her father shift beer barrels and happily mucked out the stables. Now, in her neat pencil skirt, ruffled blouse and sleek up-do, she was the model of the professional young lady.

‘If you’ll come this way,’ Sally chirruped.

Audrey followed her through corridors that all looked identical until she was ushered into a room that she realised was Richard’s office. Sally’s presence meant that there was no opportunity to investigate, so Audrey sat herself on the leather sofa.

‘Are you going to be working in London now?’

Sally looked shocked at the very idea. ‘Oh no! Just for a few weeks. I’ve got another job back home: I’m going to be secretary at the new school,’ she said with pride. ‘And, uh, I just wanted to say … thank you so much for keeping Jack on.’

‘Jack?’ Audrey said blankly.

The girl nodded. ‘Jack Spalding.’

Her eyebrows rose. ‘You and Mister Spalding are…’

Sally blushed prettily. ‘Engaged. Well, not official-like, but we’ll be getting married.’

So that was why Richard had been so keen for her to keep Spalding on the payroll. She smiled at the young woman.

‘Congratulations, Sally. I’m sure you’ll both be very happy.’

‘Thank you, ma’am. And likewise – we’re all that thrilled.’

It was touching, Audrey thought, and surprising, how many people had declared themselves delighted by her and Richard’s news. She didn’t remember it being like that when her engagement to Marton had been announced. Apart from remarks of it being ‘a good match’ – and in retrospect, she wondered what they thought had been good about it – no one had really seemed to care.

But she responded to Sally’s genuine warmth and said softly, ‘Thank you.’

A knock at the door, and the familiar figure of the chauffeur, John, entered. He touched his cap to her.

‘Mrs fforbes-Hamilton’s bags are at reception,’ Sally told him, briskness cutting out some of the Somerset softness from her voice. ‘Please take them down to the car.’

He grinned at her.

‘You’re very professional, Sally,’ Audrey told her and was rewarded with another broad smile.

Sally chattered happily all the way back down to street-level and saw Audrey safely into the comfort of the Corniche.

Ensconced in the luxurious spread of soft leather upholstery, Audrey let out a little sigh of satisfaction.

‘I can take you direct to Mayfair, Madam,’ John said from the front seat. ‘Unless you’d sooner do some shopping first?’

‘Oh, deepest, darkest Mayfair.’

They peeled away from the kerb so smoothly that she didn’t realise they were moving at first. The business district gave way to commerce and then to the white Georgian grandeur of London’s great residential districts.

Shopping was always a great attraction in London; but the current unknown lure and the one that demanded her immediate attention was the interior of Richard’s flat.


	34. A Taste of Honey: Part Three

_34\. A Taste of Honey: Part Three_

 

 

The DeVere London home was a sprawling penthouse mansion flat, set over two floors, in a smart red-brick block just off Park Lane. A doorman in grey uniform and gold braid opened the door for them, a lift took them up to the top floor and John carried her bag, unlocking the front door and presenting her with a set of keys.

Newly cut, she noticed.

‘Anything else, Madam?’

As Audrey suspected that she would be some time investigating, she dismissed John. He bowed out cheerfully.

The entry hall was a symphony of good taste: gleaming parquet flooring with a Persian rug in tones of dull gold and duck-egg blue, a porter’s chair in cognac-coloured leather, a large mirror over the hall table that bore an enormous bouquet of seasonal flowers.

It was almost exactly the way she had imagined it to be and bore all the hallmarks of Richard’s love of refined elegance that she had expected.

The lower floor comprised the kitchen, reception rooms, and what she guessed was Richard’s study. There was something familiar about that room and as Audrey walked further into it, she realised that she recognised the furniture: it was the loathed ‘avant-garde’ suite that she had had Brabinger remove ahead of Claudine DuToit’s visit. What had been jarringly out of place at Grantleigh now appeared sophisticated; the simple clean lines had an austere classicism that sat well in the high-ceilinged room with its windows looking towards the park. Even the deep red carpet looked right, bringing warmth and colour to the scheme.

It still wasn’t to her taste, but she could, at last, appreciate it.

Audrey’s gaze wandered across his desk. The _Financial Times_ , numerous folders, endless papers covered in graphs and figures … and what looked like a very well-read copy of _Farmer’s Weekly_. That last item raised a smile, and Audrey made her way to the upper floor.

More mirrors, more flowers, an exquisite Degas sketch.

Audrey pushed open a door; judging by the surfaces covered in framed photographs, knick-knacks and statues of the Virgin Mary, it was Mrs Poo’s sitting room. Audrey closed the door again. Investigating Richard’s life was one thing, but his mother’s privacy was something else.

Another door. A beautifully furnished but rather impersonal space that she took to be a guest room. She hesitated. She didn’t want to be suddenly prudish, but she also didn’t want to be presumptuous – although, given their activities the previous weekend, he would probably expect nothing less. Audrey closed the door.

Rather like Goldilocks, the third one was just right. Immediately, she recognised the light, subtle scent on the air. Books on the bedside table, cuff-links deposited carelessly on the dresser, alongside a roughly-folded newspaper and a cup holding a small amount of cold coffee. This was Richard’s room. Audrey went back down to the hall, retrieved her bag, returned and placed it in the middle of the floor with a feeling of defiance.

She inspected his pile of books. A weighty tome by an economist she had never heard of (astonishing what some people considered to be bedtime reading), a le Carré thriller (almost stereotypically male) and- Audrey caught her breath. A very familiar, very tattered copy of _The House at Pooh Corner._ There was another object lying there that at first she took to be a scrunched-up piece of paper, but she realised was a small section of a plaster cast and recognised on it her own handwriting promising an IOU.

She blinked rapidly, her eyes pricking.

 

*****

 

‘ _What’s it like?’_

‘Like a London flat.’

Marjory tutted audibly. _‘Come on, Aud. I bet it looks like a magazine spread.’_

Audrey laughed slightly. ‘Yes, it does a bit.’

A sigh. _‘I always wanted to see Richard’s bachelor pad.’_

‘He’s not Hugh Hefner!’ Even from a great distance, and though Marjory couldn’t see her, Audrey glared at her friend. Curled up in a large armchair in what she was calling to herself the drawing room, Audrey was starting to feel quite at home. ‘Anyway, it was hardly bachelor living: Mrs Poo was here as well. And he was married.’

_‘Oh, yes, of course.’_

She had spent some time looking at the photographs dotted around the room. One in particular had caught her eye: Richard, Anna and another dark-haired girl who Audrey recognised from photographs Mrs Poo had shown her when talking through the family history. Anna’s younger sister, Sonia. She didn’t have her sister’s head-turning beauty, but she was an extremely pretty girl.

One of the few weekends that Audrey had been invited somewhere, she had returned to find the village buzzing with the news that Richard had been entertaining a brunette beauty up at the manor. Audrey’s immediate, dismayed, thoughts had turned to Podge Hodge. It was Marjory who had – rather grandly, as she had actually met the lady in question - broken the good news that the guest was Richard’s sister-in-law, along with her two sons.

‘What are you doing this weekend?’ Audrey asked, before Marjory’s imagination could get the better of her.

 _‘I’m having dinner at the manor tomorrow,’_ Marjory reported happily.

‘Oh, good! I thought Mrs Poo would have had been dining with Ferdy.’

_‘Oh, he’s already there – I saw them walking Bertie earlier.’_

Audrey laughed. ‘Good for them.’

‘ _Yes…’_ There was a wistfulness in Marjory’s tone and Audrey thought, not for the first time, that it was deeply unfair that Marjory had never found a romance of her own. But there was still plenty of time.

The pair chatted for a while, before Marjory rang off and Audrey decided that a tea-time snack was in order. The kitchen was large and well-appointed with everything designed for maximum efficiency and minimum effort. Audrey pulled open the door of the fridge and stared at the contents with some bemusement.

She closed the door.

It was only a short walk to Selfridges and Bond Street and, after all, she probably could do with augmenting her weekend wardrobe a little.

 

*****

 

It was the early evening when Audrey heard a muffled thud from somewhere on the lower floor of the flat. A moment, and then Richard’s voice calling her name.

‘I’m up here.’

Wrapped in her silk dressing down, Audrey had finished her hair and make-up but was not yet dressed. She was conscious, however, of looking her best – even so, there was a thrum of nervousness as she heard footsteps along the corridor and then Richard entered, bringing with him that sense of dynamic energy that filled any room that he was in.

‘Darling…’ For a moment he stood, drinking her in as though he couldn’t quite believe that she was there. And then they moved towards each other, Audrey rising from the dressing table and throwing her arms around his neck.

‘How was your day? How are the meetings going?’ At least, that was what Audrey had meant to ask, and then let him get on with whatever it was he usually did when he got home.

What actually happened is that she murmured incoherently that she had missed him and was vaguely aware that he said something similar but it was hard to tell because his words slurred against her lips and then her jawline and the column of her throat and she pushed his jacket away from his shoulders impatiently and he let go of her just long enough to shrug it off down his arms and then his hands were on her again.

The man wore far too many clothes, Audrey thought, tugging at the knot in his tie, the silk slippery between her fingers. The craving for him, the longing, that had been a low insistent buzzing beneath her skin all week had ignited as soon as she had seen him and his eyes had met hers.

He had loosened her robe, peeling it away from her. She released her hold on him for the unending moments it took for it to pool on the floor. Richard lifted her in his arms effortlessly, carried her the few steps towards the bed while she mounted an attack on his shirt buttons. He lowered her and she fell back onto the soft mattress, pulling him down with her.

 

*****

 

‘So, how was your day?’ Audrey asked sometime later.

‘Tedious – but it ended exceptionally well.’ His eyes gleamed and Audrey felt her cheeks burn.

‘I didn’t mean to pounce on you.’

Propped up on one elbow, his other hand trailing patterns across her skin, Richard smiled down at her lazily. ‘My love, you can pounce on me whenever you like.’

Wanting, being wanted, she wasn’t used to it. Not yet. ‘I’m not intending to make a habit of it.’

He pulled away from her in mock disgust. ‘In that case, the wedding is off.’

‘Why?’

Richard looked at her severely. ‘You can’t set the precedent of a welcome like that and then take it off the table. It’s the worst bad faith.’

Audrey’s lips twitched, her eyes a smoky blue. She ran her hand along his chest and up into the curve of his neck. ‘All right: regular pouncing.’

He kissed her. ‘I’m thinking of having that written into the vows.’

‘It might be worth it just to see the rector’s face.’

Richard laughed; the flashes of mischief he had sometimes noticed in her eyes were more frequent now and he delighted in them.

‘What did you do with yourself today?’

‘I had tea out; I would have had something here, except that you have no food.’

‘I do!’ A protest.

Audrey rolled her eyes. ‘Richard, the only things in your fridge are milk, a bottle of champagne and some apples. You own supermarkets, for heaven’s sake!’

He shrugged. ‘Well, I wasn’t expecting company. Anyway, I haven’t been here all that much and I don’t really like cooking for one.’

‘You cook?’ She was sceptical.

‘I’m a very good cook.’

‘Is that like being a good skier?’ She let out a yelp as he targeted a ticklish spot.

‘Low blow,’ he said admonishingly. ‘I’ll cook you a meal that will be a revelation. But not tonight.’ He returned to the absorbing task of dancing his fingertips against Audrey’s smooth skin. ‘What else?’

‘I did some shopping. Not that you appreciated it.’

‘Hmm? Ah.’ He looked at the tangle of silk and lace lying on the bedroom floor. ‘Very nice. But you really don’t need adornments to get my attention.’

‘Good to know. It will save me a small fortune.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I have noticed that the smaller the item, the heftier the price-tag. Quite a brilliant marketing strategy: spend a lot for very little.’

‘And it was very little,’ Audrey agreed.

‘It must have been, otherwise I would have noticed.’ She giggled, a delicious sound, and he gazed at her. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘For coming to London.’

Audrey captured his wandering hand, laced her fingers through his. ‘You have to get out of the habit of thinking I don’t want to be with you. All you have to do is ask – I’ll go anywhere.’

His dark eyes were melting and she allowed herself to be lost in them; and then her own fluttered closed as he lowered his head to hers. He kissed her and she wrapped herself around him.

 

*****

 

For the second time that evening, Audrey fixed her hair and applied her makeup.

‘Isn’t that a waste of time?’ Richard asked.

‘We can’t spend all of our time lounging around in bed.’

‘Why not? Sounds a perfectly reasonable way to spend our time.’

He was leaning in the doorway that gave onto the bathroom, droplets of water clinging to his hair and his skin warm and gleaming from the shower. Desire kindled, licking under her skin.

‘It’s … debauched,’ she announced, determinedly concentrating on her eyeliner.

Richards snorted. ‘Hardly. We’re not even on the lower rungs of decadent yet.’

Audrey lowered her eye pencil. ‘What would constitute decadent?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. We’d have to be licking whipped cream or honey off each other.’

‘Not my honey, it’s too valuable.’

‘Spoken like a true businesswoman,’ Richard said lovingly, and bent to deposit a kiss on the side of her neck. ‘Which reminds me…’

He disappeared and returned some minutes later, handing her a slim file.

‘What is it?’

‘You sales contract. There was something odd about the way it had been worded: I’d meant to have it fixed but then events got in the way.’

Audrey opened the file, glanced at the papers and frowned. ‘What am I looking for?’

He turned a page. ‘That paragraph.’

Audrey scanned it in silence. Should she decide to sell her products through a third party, exclusive rights to all such sales would be granted to –

‘Richard DeVere!’

‘It should have read Cavendish Foods. Don’t worry, I won’t hold you to it.’

‘So, I can do what I like with my honey?’

If there had been a more lascivious answer in his mind, he managed to keep it to himself. ‘Yes. Although, if you do want to sell the honey, I’d suggest you do it through Mrs Patterson’s shop.’

She frowned. ‘Why?’

‘It’s an existing premises, has an established customer base and it would be mutually beneficial.’

Audrey tilted her head back, looked at him down at her eyes thoughtfully. ‘I’ve often wondered… Mrs Patterson was always one of your biggest fans – but surely you were damaging her business?’

It was, Audrey thought, a slightly surreal situation. They were discussing business and contracts while she was wearing a silk robe and insubstantial lingerie, while Richard was dressed in a towel. Not that she particularly minded that last point.

‘I was a very good customer of hers,’ he said, apparently blithely unaware of any incongruity. ‘Besides, I had an agreement with her that we would target different customers and send business each other’s way.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Audrey nodded. ‘So, that’s how you’re able to get women to do whatever you want.’

He laughed. ‘That depends entirely on what I want from them.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘And what do you want from me?’

‘Come here.’

Audrey held her chin high, answering him with a defiant gaze. And then stood and walked towards him. Slowly, he undid the belt of her robe.

‘What are you doing?’ She tried to sound casual but there was a husky catch in her voice.

‘Just admiring the results of your shopping.’

Under the intensity of his gaze she felt a blush that seemed to cover her entire body.

‘It is very nice,’ he remarked. His fingers grazed her collar bones, slid under the thin silk straps and eased them along her shoulders and down her arms. ‘But that really is much better.’

The planes of his chest were hard, unyielding against her breasts, his arms holding her fiercely. Her fingers twisted into his hair, nails against the skin.

‘Who needs honey?’ he murmured against her lips and her mouth opened under his.

 

*****

 

‘We really should get up,’ Audrey said.

‘I keep telling you it’s a waste of time.’

‘But I’m hungry!’

‘I’m not surprised.’

‘And all you have are apples.’

‘And champagne.’

‘You can’t eat champagne.’

He seemed to think about this. ‘Can’t argue with that.’

She was draped across him, and it should have been uncomfortable – after all, he was almost entirely hard lines and muscle. But that wasn’t how it felt. Perhaps it was because she seemed to have become boneless, like she had dissolved into him; except that she hadn’t – she could feel the weight of his arm around her waist and the vibrations of his breath and voice under her ear.

‘Much later and there won’t be anywhere decent left to go.’

‘Do you mean decent good, or decent respectable?’

‘Aren’t they the same thing?’

‘Diametrically opposed, usually. The more respectable the place, the worse the food.’

She pushed herself up and looked down at him, her eyes widening in delight. ‘You’re a snob!’

‘I am not!’

‘You are! You’re a food snob.’ Audrey enjoyed this new discovery. ‘And a sentimentalist.’

‘I draw the line at that,’ he said stiffly. Quite an achievement given their state of undress and entangled limbs.

Audrey raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, really?’ She looked over her shoulder, pointedly, at the objects on his bedside table.

Richard grimaced. ‘Ah. Well, that’s different.’

‘How?’

He twisted a lock of hair around his fingers. ‘Those are things that matter.’

She could feel his heartbeat under her hand, a steady rhythm that pulsed through her. Devotion in his eyes. She had never loved anyone the way she loved him.

‘I’m still hungry, though,’ she said, pulling herself back from the brink. It was too easy to lose herself in him.

He laughed. ‘All right. But you can quash this sudden passion for dressing – we can order in.’

A wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. ‘You mean like a takeaway?’ She thought about it. ‘I’ve never had a takeaway.’

He stared at her. ‘How?!’

She shrugged.

‘You’ve never had a Chinese?’

‘A Chinese what?’

She wasn’t even joking, he realised. ‘You must have had fish and chips.’

‘Of course I have. In a restaurant.’

He shook his head. She was unbelievable. ‘That’s really not the same thing.’

‘I’m not sure I want Chinese food,’ Audrey said, regarding him uncertainly.

‘You have much to learn, Little Grasshopper, but I think we’ll save that experience for another time.’ He dislodged her, regretfully, extricating himself from the tangle of sheets. ‘Lucky for you, I know a man who works at the Grill.’

‘What grill?’ She was deeply suspicious.

‘Savoy.’

Audrey let out a breath of laughter. ‘You’re ordering a takeaway from the Savoy Grill?’ Smug. That was the look on his face. ‘You can’t say that that isn’t the lower rungs of decadence.’

‘And if you order something with whipped cream for dessert, we might make it to the middle rungs.’

‘Richard,’ she called after him. ‘Richard! If you’re ringing the Savoy, at least put on some clothes!’

 


	35. Interlude

_35\. Interlude_

 

Steely light poked through a chink in the heavy curtains, providing a faint glow in the recesses of the room. Audrey curled under the covers and became aware that there was empty space beside her and only residual warmth. She sat up, looked around the room that was devoid of any other human life.

She seemed to have sunk irretrievably into the pillows and mattress and it was only with an effort that she was able to extricate herself. She stood, her toes curling into the plush carpet.

More aches in even more peculiar places.

Audrey pulled on her dressing gown and pushed back the curtains. Sky the colour of slate hung over the London skyline and the sight added an extra chill to the already frigid air. She shivered slightly, and made her way to the landing. At the top of the stairs she stopped and detected the unmistakable aroma of freshly-brewed coffee wafting upwards.

The kitchen was warm, there was coffee in the pot and there were boxes of groceries on the kitchen table. Audrey stared at them as though they weren’t quite real. The oven was on and when she pulled open the door she found a number of croissants gently warming, the pastry visibly flaking.

It was as though she had stepped into some strange alternate world, like finding herself in the Beast’s castle with its invisible servants.

She poured herself some coffee, found - wonder of wonders! – cream in the fridge, and wandered back out of the kitchen. The faint sound of a one-sided conversation drifted towards her and Audrey followed it to Richard’s study.

He was on the telephone and when he saw her standing in the doorway he smiled and beckoned for her to enter.

‘-we have plans today … Perhaps … She’s just come in now, I’ll ask her … No, I am not putting Audrey on the phone!’ Richard looked over at her. ‘My sister-in-law. The harpy wants us to come for lunch tomorrow.’

A loud squawk erupted from the earpiece.

‘That’s what you get for nagging,’ he said into the receiver. Richard met Audrey’s eyes and put his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘You don’t have to say yes.’

For a long time, Audrey had thought that Mrs Poo was the only family Richard had; but from a handful of casual comments, especially in the past week, and certainly hearing his end of the conversation, it had become evident that Sonia, her husband and her children, were family.

She would meet them sooner or later and fforbes-Hamiltons never shied away from a challenge, even when they wanted to. Audrey pasted on a smile. ‘Yes, all right.’

He removed his hand from the receiver. ‘You can relax, she said yes … All right, we’ll be there around one … Goodbye, pest.’ He was laughing as he rang off, then stood and walked towards her. ‘It will be all right. You’ll like Sonia, she’s very nice.’

But will she like me? Audrey wondered. It was an uncomfortable and unfamiliar feeling, worrying about what someone else would think of her.

And then Richard’s arms were around her and everything else dissipated. He tasted of coffee, bitter, with a hint of sweetness.

‘Good morning.’

‘Good morning.’ Another taste of his lips. ‘There are actual groceries in your kitchen.’

‘They were delivered earlier. You were still asleep.’

‘Oh, you needn’t look so pleased with yourself!’

His eyebrows went up. ‘That’s not what you said last night.’

‘You know, smugness is not an attractive quality.’

His eyes flared with warmth, arms tightening around her and Audrey was all too willing to yield to him, until she realised that she was about to scald both of them with her precariously held cup of coffee.

‘Probably just as well,’ Richard said. ‘We should get a move on if we want to make lunch.’

‘Lunch? I haven’t even had breakfast yet!’ Audrey watched him closely. Three years of having bombshells dropped on her had made her alert to the warning signs. She braced herself. ‘Just what are these sudden plans that we have for today? Where are we having lunch?’

‘Paris,’ he said, already heading towards the study door.

Audrey stared after him. ‘Paris?!’

He grinned at her over his shoulder. ‘I still owe you a lunch at Maxim’s. Come on!’


	36. London Calling: Part Two

_36\. London Calling: Part Two_

 

Tenderness and passion and were never going to part of her life. Nor was romance.

She was not going to be with the sort of man who would whisk her off to Paris for the sole purpose of buying her lunch. She wouldn’t have someone who would then cook her a meal that looked deceptively simple – white truffle penne – but that really was the epicurean revelation he had promised. All the while debating with her over whether or not they should be introducing specialist crops and more heritage breeds to the estate farms.

Audrey tried to remember the time when she had wished that Richard DeVere had never set foot on Grantleigh’s hallowed soil, and shuddered at the thought of the emptiness and coldness of her life if he hadn’t.

It had rained solidly in Paris; a constant, soaking downpour of grey that, ordinarily, would be enough to lower anyone’s spirits. She hadn’t cared. It had made the rich golds and reds of Maxim’s glow more intensely. It had made Richard’s hair curl just above his collar and she hadn’t been able to stop herself from playing with it.

The rain followed them back to London, diamond glints against the ink black glass of the high windows in his flat. They closed the curtains against it.

‘Do you realise that this is the longest we’ve been alone together? Ever?’ She didn’t raise her head from his shoulder.

His voice was soft, breath barely stirring her hair. ‘If this is where we find out we can’t actually stand one another, I’m throwing myself off the nearest ice flow.’

‘There are no ice flows in London.’

‘We’ll just have to find a way to get along, then.’

Audrey shook her head, eyes drinking in the lines of his face. ‘You are a fool.’

After dinner she had started investigating his record collection. There were the expected symphonies and operas (he was the only person she knew who went to Glyndebourne because he actually liked the music), and early jazz; but then there was also the rock n’ roll, blues and soul. They argued the merits of favourite versions of songs and discovered a mutual love of bossy nova and danced together in the middle of the room.

Audrey caressed his face and he caught hold of her hand, pressing his lips against the now-bare ring finger. She had removed the bands a week ago, placing them in a box and the box in a drawer. The remnants of an old life and one that she was happy to say goodbye to. She hadn’t thought that he had noticed their absence.

‘You don’t have to take them off,’ he said.

‘I wanted to. It was time. Besides, someone told me once that some things aren’t worth preserving.’

‘Sounds like a very clever fellow.’

‘Don’t push it.’

A curve of a smile tugged at his lips. ‘There is something I wanted to give you.’ He kept hold of one of her hands while reaching for the jacket slung across a chair, fumbled with it before turning back to her with a small box.

‘How long have you been carrying that around for?’ Her mouth, inexplicably, felt thick, the words hard to get out.

‘Not that long.’ One corner of his mouth tilted up more. ‘Of course, I should have realised by now that if I’m waiting for the right time, I could be waiting forever.’

The art nouveau sensuousness of Maxim’s would have fit with the sort of grand romantic gesture that Audrey imagined was Richard’s idea of the right way to do this sort of thing. But here, on a rainy night in London, while Jobim conjured an imaginary of Brazil and they danced alone in the drawing room, this felt right. An intimacy that was just for them.

The emerald cut trio of diamonds glittered discreetly. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘And look at that, it fits.’

The cool metal encircled her finger and she twisted hers through his, her other hand brushing against his cheek. ‘I adore you,’ she said softly.

He held her to him, his face buried in her hair and she heard the words of devotion murmured into her ear.

 

*****

 

It was still raining the following morning and the drumming sound on the roof was both familiar and strange. In her half-awake state, it took Audrey some minutes to make sense of things. The windows were on the wrong side of the room. The walls, now that she recognised that what she was looking at was a wall, were the wrong colour. She wasn’t at the lodge; she wasn’t even at the manor. And the weight pinning her down was not Bertie having managed to sneak his way into her bedroom and up onto the bed. It was Richard’s arm around her waist, his breath against her neck.

She turned herself around in his embrace until she was facing him. A comma of dark hair fell across his forehead and she pushed it back, her fingers then following his hairline, the hollow at his temple, down across his cheekbone.

‘That tickles.’

Audrey snatched her hand away guiltily and then scowled at him. ‘I thought you were asleep.’

One eye opened and looked at her, a dark glint through his lashes. ‘I was. Why aren’t you?’

His hand raked through her hair, twisting through the strands.

‘No reason.’

Strange sounds, the unfamiliarity of her surroundings, the even more unfamiliar sensation of being held by someone who loved her.

He smiled lazily. ‘You know, if the lady is still awake, then the gentleman hasn’t done his duty.’

‘Oh?’

‘And I know how you feel about duty.’

‘It is very important,’ Audrey said seriously.

His hands skimmed across her skin, a whisper that barely touched her but she felt the nerve-endings ignite, sing in response to his call. His kiss was tender, a delicate exploration of her mouth and she sighed against his lips.

There was so much pleasure in touching him, in feeling the way muscle bunched under her hands, his hard lines yielding to her touch. The weight of his body against hers. The faint salty tang of his skin and then the smoky sweetness of his lips.

Whispered words and soft cries lost in the roar of the rain.

 

*****

 

There had been fforbes-Hamiltons present at every major battle in English history for four hundred years. There were countless portraits, of countless ancestors, in assorted military garb, hanging on the Grantleigh walls. The women were as renowned for their resilience and stalwart defiance of the enemy as their menfolk.

So if anyone had asked the current descendant of this fearless – and fearsome – tribe if she were feeling any trepidation, Audrey fforbes-Hamilton would have laughed in their face.

She was feeling trepidation, however. A lot of it.

In the back of a taxi that was taking them into the leafy suburbs of south-west London, Audrey tried to ignore the roiling in the pit of her stomach. They hardly seemed to have gone anywhere at all before they pulled up in front of a good-sized house on a quiet street in Richmond. Sunshine had followed the rain and everything glittered, the air fresh and cleansed.

Richard pulled her arm through his. ‘It will be fine.’

‘Of course it will. Why wouldn’t it be? Why are you saying that?’

‘Because you look like you’re about to ride into battle.’ He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘Come on.’

The door was opened by a large man with a pleasant, placid face, who greeted them warmly. ‘Richard! Come in. You must be Audrey. Good to meet you at last!’ He shook her hand; he and Richard exchanged the sort of bone-jarring slaps on arms and shoulders that seemed to connote male friendship.

‘Sonia, they’re here!’

From somewhere deeper in the house, a whirlwind of Pucci print, dark hair and perfume emerged and Audrey found herself caught in an enthusiastic embrace.

Sonia Thuyssen was a vivacious brunette, far more striking in person than her photographs suggested. Perfectly groomed from her gleaming curls to the tips of manicured fingers, she looked as though she’d be more at home on the Côte d’Azur. But she had an urchin-like grin that was at odds with her sophisticated appearance. And there was an unfeigned warmth in her dark eyes and Audrey felt herself start to relax a little.

The pile-up in the hallway was completed by two young boys, who began clamouring for Richard’s attention, and an excitable black spaniel who answered to Ludo.

‘Here, have a drink.’ Michael Thuyssen pressed a gin and tonic roughly the size of an Olympic swimming pool into her hand.

‘Thank you,’ Audrey said a little weakly.

Sonia claimed her arm. ‘Why don’t you come and give me a hand, Audrey?’

‘Sonia…’ Richard looked at her with warning. She rolled her eyes at him.

‘Go and play with the boys.’

Richard was dragged away by his nephews, Michael ambling after them. Audrey was guided down the hallway to the kitchen and her fleeting impression of the house was airy, rambling and filled with flowers, books and art.

‘Not going to lie,’ Sonia said, still clinging to Audrey’s arm, ‘I’ve been absolutely dying to meet you.’

Audrey laughed at that. ‘I admit, I’ve been quite curious myself.’

The kitchen was a warm, welcoming space, with windows looking over the large back garden. Audrey could see Sonia’s sons trying out their cricket skills on their uncle.

‘It’s a pretty basic roast chicken, I’m afraid,’ Sonia said, pulling the tray out of the oven and inspecting the bird uncertainly. ‘I was hoping to have you both over yesterday but Richard said you had plans.’

‘Yes. We had lunch in Paris.’

Sonia burst out laughing. ‘That sounds like Richard! Thank God he’s stopped moping.’

Audrey tried not to sound too interested. ‘Had he been?’

‘Oh, yes, he’s been awful ever since he sold the house.’ Sonia’s eyes slid towards Audrey and she grinned again. ‘Although I don’t think it had much to do with the house.’ She took a hefty gulp of her drink.

Sonia was nervous herself, and that realisation softened Audrey further towards her hostess. And it was best to get the next part out of the way. ‘This must be very strange for you.’

She looked up from the dish of braised radishes she had retrieved from the bottom oven. ‘Because of Anna?’

Audrey nodded.

The oven doors were closed. Sonia leaned against the counter, cradling her glass in one hand. ‘Anna understood the importance of happiness. She’d have been the first to approve. Well, not if she were still here – because that would have been weird. Besides,’ she continued brightly, ‘I’ve known Richard almost all my life. I remember him when he was still plain Bedrich Polouvicek. He’s always been like a big brother to me, not just a brother-in-law. I miss Anna, but I’m glad he’s found someone. I’m happy for him.’

A thud sounded against the wall. Rolling her eyes, Sonia pushed open the kitchen window and leant out. ‘Richard DeVere, if you break my windows, I’m telling your mother!’

‘Spoilsport!’ came the reply.

Sonia stuck her tongue out at him, and closed the window. ‘As you can see, we have a very mature relationship,’ she said to Audrey.

‘There’ve been quite a few times I’ve wanted to do that to him myself,’ Audrey replied, her eyes dancing.

‘I can imagine. Richard’s one of my favourite people, but he can also be absolutely impossible. Oh, you need a top up!’

‘No, I-’ She hadn’t really noticed drinking the last one, but it would go some way to explaining her feeling of relaxation. Another small lake of gin and tonic was deposited in Audrey’s glass before she could object. Mainly gin, by the taste.

‘Cheers,’ Sonia said happily, clinking her own refilled glass against Audrey’s.

Audrey smiled. It would be rude to refuse, after all. ‘Cheers.’

 

*****

 

‘Are they always that … hospitable?’ Audrey asked when they were in the back of another taxi, threading the way back to Mayfair. Her head was reeling.

‘Always. Sonia isn’t happy unless her guests are nearly in food-induced comas and are bordering on cirrhosis of the liver.’

The pre-lunch drinks had been followed by copious amounts of wine during lunch. Sonia seemed to find the sight of an empty plate or glass physically painful, a condition that was shared by her husband.

Michael Thuyssen’s apparent placidity hid a dry, deadpan sense of humour that sparked against his wife’s more outgoing personality. They were an affectionate, happy family and seemed eager to include Audrey - which was sweet, if a little overwhelming.

But Audrey was conscious of a feeling of immense gratitude towards them and the generosity of their welcoming of her.

Richard’s arm tightened slightly around her shoulders as though he knew what was in her mind. ‘Sonia likes you a lot.’

Audrey inclined her head to look up at him. ‘How can you be so sure?’

‘She told me. Can’t keep anything to herself; if you want to keep a secret, don’t tell Sonia. She’s hopeless.’

‘She’s lovely.’

Richard let out a breath of laughter coloured by affection. ‘Yes, she is. And so are you.’

Audrey offered him a slightly lopsided smile. He kissed her and she thought to herself that she had never been kissed in the back of a taxi before – and only realised that she had actually said it out loud when Richard murmured, ‘Then it’s about time you were.’

She remembered at school being warned by older, worldlier girls about the boys who were Not Safe in Taxis.

Richard was first, last and always the consummate gentleman. That did not make him any less Not Safe.

Thankfully.


	37. The Long Way Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has been reading this - more thanks to those who have left comments and encouraged me through this. It ended up being much longer than I had anticipated, but we’ve finally made it home.

_37\. The Long Way Home_

 

‘It sounds heavenly,’ Marjory breathed, her knitting lying forgotten in her lap. She had been treated to the (heavily) edited highlights of Audrey’s London weekend, and while Marjory was truly happy that her best friend had found such unequivocal happiness, she couldn’t help but think of what might have been.

The memory of that single chaste kiss was something that she cherished, but she had to admit that there had never really been a contest: Richard had shown no true interest in any woman apart from Audrey since he had arrived at Grantleigh.

Even so…

‘You will be Maid of Honour?’

Marjory flushed pink. ‘Oh gosh, yes! Thanks, Aud. Who’s going to be Best Man?’

‘I don’t know, but possibly Richard’s brother-in-law, Michael.’

Richard could at least get himself a Best Man who was single, Marjory thought, gloomily. She rallied.

‘What’s he like?’

Audrey thought back to Sunday lunch and smiled. ‘Very nice. I think he’s some sort of civil servant.’

The sister-in-law had also seemed very nice, Marjory recalled, and clearly very fond of Richard. An instant family, and a far more inviting one than Audrey’s own. It wouldn’t be like last time. Audrey wouldn’t be spending most of her time inventing jobs for herself in order to avoid her husband’s company. She wouldn’t have the need, or the desire, for an old friend to be a distraction and a confidante. Richard would take that place, and for the first time jealousy was directed towards him. They would have each other and that was the way it should be – but she wouldn’t be needed anymore.

‘I’m worried about Marjory,’ Audrey said later, cradling the receiver in her hands. With her eyes closed, she could almost imagine that he was there with her.

_‘What’s happened?’_

‘Oh, nothing. She just seems very down, that’s all. It isn’t like her.’

‘ _It’s understandable, I suppose. With the wedding. She might see it as a loss.’_

Audrey’s eyes popped open; she straightened in her chair. ‘Why, of all the big-headed..! You really imagine that we women have nothing more in our heads than to be moping around after you-’

 _‘I meant losing you!’_ He practically bellowed it down the phone.

‘Oh.’ Audrey sat back again. ‘But that’s ridiculous.’

There was a long, pointed silence. Audrey sighed. ‘You might be right.’

‘ _Of course I am.’_

She rolled her eyes. ‘You really are big-headed.’

He laughed.

The leather of the big chair in the study creaked as she settled into it again and her eyes drifted closed. ‘I really wish you were here.’

An impatient breath was blown out. _‘I wish so, too. Where are you right now?’_

‘The study. I thought in these sort of conversations you’re supposed to ask what I’m wearing.’

_‘If the answer isn’t a tweed skirt and a sweater, I’ll be disappointed.’_

Damn him. ‘It isn’t a sweater, it’s a blouse,’ she said, with a touch of the hauteur that her interlocutor always found wildly distracting.

_‘Mm, all those buttons… Of course, ideally it would be you in your jodhpurs.’_

‘That is strangely specific.’

‘ _It’s what you were wearing when you helped me buy the horse. We ended up back at the manor.’_

Audrey grimaced. ‘I looked an absolute fright.’

 _‘You looked spectacular. I realised then that I could easily fall in love with you. I’ve been falling ever since.’_ A velvet warmth in his voice that she could sink into. She missed him. He wasn’t that far away but it was like a pain. How much more would it hurt to miss someone who was on your doorstep…

‘ _You’re still thinking about Marjory, aren’t you?’_

Audrey let out a breath, sat forward, elbows propped on the desk, studied the fine grains running through the wood. ‘Yes. I’m sorry.’

‘ _Don’t be. I come with a mother, you come with a Marjory. We both have, as they say, baggage.’_

He face wrinkled, horrified. ‘Who on earth says that?’

‘ _Americans, mostly.’_

‘I should have known,’ she said flatly.

Amusement coloured Richard’s voice and she could imagine the spark in his eyes. ‘ _What do you have against Americans?’_

‘They’re just so … American.’

‘ _Eloquently put.’_

‘Oh, shut up.’

She heard an answering chuckle.

‘I hate to think of her feeling pushed out. And that cottage is falling down about her ears.’

Another pause and then: ‘ _I know I’ll probably end up regretting this suggestion…’_

Audrey gripped the receiver. Sharing the manor with Mrs Poo was one thing, but if he was about to say they should offer Marjory a home-

If life had worked out differently, then maybe. Audrey tried to cut him off but Richard ploughed on.

‘ _It’s your decision, of course, but you could sell her the lodge at a reasonable price.’_

‘Oh.’

‘ _It’s in a better state of repair these days.’_

Audrey sniffed. ‘I managed to have one or two things done.’

‘ _You got an entire new roof. Not to mention all of the other things in that contract you got me to sign.’_

‘It isn’t my fault you didn’t read it first.’

He sighed. ‘ _I’m too trusting, that’s my trouble.’_

‘You’re too full of nonsense,’ she said firmly. And then added, ‘But it might not be the worst idea.’ Something to think about, at least. Audrey settled back in the chair again. ‘Are you at the flat?’

‘ _No, still at the office. I have a call to New York in an hour.’_

‘And what are _you_ wearing?’

A low laugh in her ear. ‘ _The businessman’s armour – a three-piece suit.’_

‘Mmm. All those buttons…’

 

*****

 

‘Have you decided what you’re going to do with this place, yet?’

Sonia had arrived to oversee the safe removal of Maria’s possessions and their dispatch to Grantleigh.

‘No, not yet.’ Richard handed her a drink and sat beside her on the sofa. ‘It would be handy to have somewhere in London, but it’s a bit big for a…’

‘Pied-à-terre,’ Sonia said, with an air of nonchalance.

‘Show-off.’

She grinned at him over the rim of her glass and then looked about the room with a critical eye. ‘You could always rent it out – you’d probably make more out of it that way than by selling it.’

‘That’s-’ Richard stared at her. ‘That’s a practical suggestion. From you.’

‘Oh!’ She struck him smartly on the arm.

‘Ow! You’re getting very violent as you approach middle age.’ He ducked the rain of furious blows Sonia directed at him.

‘I’m going to telephone Audrey and tell her just what you’re really like.’

‘She already knows.’

‘And she still wants to marry you?’

‘Apparently so.’

Sonia let out a whistle. ‘The woman’s a saint.’

Richard choked on his drink. ‘Given the lives of some of the saints, I’m not sure that’s much of a compliment.’

‘Yes, some of them were a rackety lot,’ Sonia said thoughtfully. She took another sip and observed Richard closely; aware of her scrutiny, his eyes slid sideways and narrowed slightly.

‘What?’

‘I was just thinking: living in the country has been good for you. You’ve changed, you know.’

‘Oh?’

She smiled. ‘Don’t worry, not a lot. But you’re more … patient. You listen more.’

‘Mother always said that you’re perceptive – I hate it when she’s right.’

Sonia laughed.

‘You don’t have any choice but to be patient in the country. You’d go mad, otherwise.’

‘Well, it suits you. Will it stick, do you think?’

‘Being more patient?’

She rolled her eyes at him. ‘Being in the country.’

‘Oh, I think so.’

There was a sudden tenderness in his expression, a softness in his eyes and she knew he was thinking of his beloved Audrey. He’d been the same way over Anna.

Sonia raised her glass. ‘To life.’

He touched his glass to hers. ‘To life.’

 

*****

 

In the failing light of a golden early autumn evening, the Somerset landscape looked almost preposterously romantic. Undulating green under a rising mist and turning leaves that were burnished in hues of copper and bronze.

On the last rise before the sweep down to Grantleigh, Richard stopped the corniche and took in the landscape. London was a vibrant, exciting place, but it did have a tendency to wear you down. He felt tired right through to the bone. Or, at least, he had until he neared this place. Grantleigh and Audrey. He smiled to himself at the thought of her and headed down towards the manor.

‘Bedrich!’ Maria Polouvicka descended on her son as though she had not seen him in years. He submitted to her embrace, wrapped his own arms around her. She was tiny, but the vitality flowed through her. For a moment he rested his cheek on top of her head and then looked up when he saw Audrey walking towards them.

She was wearing the navy dress that he had so appreciated her in; her head was held high, the proud lady of the manor, but he saw the faint flush on her cheeks and the glimmer in her blue eyes.

‘Audrey.’

He reached for her and they held one another’s hands awkwardly while Maria watched them benevolently.

After a moment, Richard cleared his throat. ‘Uh, Mother…’

She looked at him, an enquiring gaze, and then threw up her hands. ‘You are both so English! There is a saying in old Czechoslovakia: an unwatched egg never hatches.’

Audrey watched her retreating figure and tried to suppress laughter, not entirely successfully.

‘I’m thinking of sending her on an extended holiday somewhere very far away,’ Richard said with deceptive mildness. ‘Like Australia. Or the Antarctic.’

‘Don’t you dare.’ Audrey tilted her head back and looked into his eyes. ‘Hello.’

He took her face in his hands and kissed her as though he were getting to know her all over again. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said softly.

‘I missed you, too.’ She locked her arms around him. ‘You must be tired after that drive.’

‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’

Her lips curved and she shook her head slightly. A discreet cough behind them and they moved apart fractionally.

‘Oh, hello, Brabinger.’

‘Good evening, sir. The car has been unpacked.’

‘Ah. Thank you.’

‘Will you require any refreshments?’

It was Audrey who answered. ‘No, thank you, Brabinger – we’ll ring if we need anything.’

‘Very good, Madam. Sir.’ He slipped out of the hallway with barely a sound. Perhaps noiseless movement was something that they taught in butler school, Richard reflected. Either that, or Brabinger had secretly been a wartime Commando and was capable of killing them with his thumbs.

He wasn’t sure he’d be surprised if that were true.

Audrey linked her arm through his. ‘Come on. I’m sure you’ll want to change before dinner.’

They were almost at the door before Richard realised that she was walking them to his own old room. What must have been her room before – was again now. Unless she was sleeping elsewhere. He followed her in a little uncertainly and then stopped just inside the threshold.

His suitcases had been neatly stacked in one corner, the overnight bag already unpacked and some of the items laid out amongst Audrey’s. The room looked much as it had when he had left it, but there were some decidedly feminine touches: the paintings and mirrors had been changed, some of the furniture swapped out for lighter pieces and there was an abundance of flowers.

There was also, he noticed, the pair of Fabergé cups standing on a silver tray, along with a coffee pot.

‘This is new,’ he said.

‘Yes. I thought it went with them rather well.’

It was a more contemporary piece, but it picked out the colours of the two tiny cups. Old and new melded together.

He looked around the room and then met her steady gaze. ‘Are you sure about this?’

Her eyebrows rose. ‘Don’t tell me _you_ have suddenly turned into a prude!’

‘Hardly. But people will talk. I wouldn’t want your reputation damaged because of me.’

She shrugged. ‘People talk about us anyway. I think they probably have for a long time. Besides, what could they say? That I’m spending my nights with a handsome Czechoslovakian self-made millionaire who is the finest gentleman I’ve ever known? And whom I love. And whom I’m going to marry. They can say whatever they like.’

His arms slid around her waist, holding her to him. ‘Well, when you put it like that…’

Audrey raised her hands, gently tracing the lines of his face with her fingers. ‘Welcome home, Richard.’

 


End file.
